


Intertwining your soul (with somebody else)

by stealing-jasons-job (changingthefairy_tale)



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bellarke, Canon Universe, Canonverse AU, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, Eventual Happy Ending, Every of the Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, The Author Regrets Everything, Yet Also Nothing, all of the angst, heda!Bellamy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 05:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22539121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingthefairy_tale/pseuds/stealing-jasons-job
Summary: Clarke has been in love with Bellamy for almost as long as she can remember. They grew up together in Polis, Clarke's parents serving the previous heda and Bellamy as part of the novitiate class. What had started out as a rivalry between kids turned into a meaningful friendship as they grew older. Now Bellamy was heda, promised to Gina kom Ingranronakru as part of a political alliance established during the previous heda's rule. And Clarke has to face the fact that Bellamy will never be hers.OR, the one where Bellamy is the heda, and must marry in order to help solidify plans for the coalition even though him and Clarke as ass-backward in love with each other. Angst and fluff ensue.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 224
Kudos: 535





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started as a one-shot to help me get the creative juices flowing for a chapter of The Choices We Make I was having issues with, but of course it spiraled.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Inhale. Exhale. Release. 

The arrow cuts through the air and hits its target, a few inches away from the bullseye. 

Clarke sighs, grabbing another arrow from her sheath before trying again. 

Inhale. Exhale. Release. This one misses the red entirely, lodging itself in the middle of the yellow ring. 

“Fuck,” she grumbles to herself. She was not on her game today. 

“You know, you’re the only person I know who would hit her target twice in a row from over 100 yards away and still believe they weren’t good enough,” a familiar low voice breaks her focus. She turns around to see Bellamy leaned against a nearby tree, his eyebrows raised in amusement. 

Clarke just shrugs in response, not willing to meet his eyes fully. He steps away from the tree to come stand before her, and she’s forced to look up at him. 

“Care to tell me what’s wrong? You only ever come out here when you need to think, and the last two arrows tell me it’s not working out for you.” His voice is laced with just a small amount of teasing, but his deep brown eyes are filled with concern. God, he knew her too well. 

She wondered how he even knew she was out here. It was only a short horseback ride or around an hour of hiking from Polis, but it felt like a different universe. Clarke always comes out here when she needs to get away from whatever is happening inside the stone walls of the tower. But she hadn’t told Bellamy she’d be here this morning. 

Clarke had been pretending this day would never come for so long. In fact, she had almost fooled herself into thinking it never would. But this morning she was faced with reality — Gina kom Ingranronakru was arriving at the palace today, and Clarke was losing her best friend forever. 

The previous heda formed an alliance with them when Bellamy was still just a boy, long before his conclave. The cost of that alliance was an arranged marriage between the chief’s daughter and the next heda. When Bellamy had become heda, his flamekeeper Marcus Kane insisted that he uphold the alliance and go through with the marriage. 

He’d never met Gina, but she was set to arrive in Polis on her 21st birthday to begin the courting process. Up until today, Clarke could at least shove thoughts of Bellamy marrying someone else to the back of her mind. But that all changes as soon as she steps foot into the tower. 

“It’s nothing,” she plasters a smile on her face that she is certain he sees through. “Just couldn’t sleep last night. Apparently exhaustion doesn’t do much for my aim.” 

He obviously doesn’t fully believe her, but he thankfully doesn’t comment. 

“Well, I have the morning free. I thought we could go for a ride out to our spot?” 

“We’d have to go back to Polis first, then north,” she points out. He just nodded. She can tell that he is nervous for today. Clarke would be, too, in his position. 

As a silent rule, they don’t ever talk about the fact that he is promised to someone else. Clarke knows that deep down, Bellamy is a hopeless romantic. Someone who had dreams of having a chosen, building a family. It was rare for a heda to have the opportunity, but she knew he wanted it. 

Sure, he’s a talented warrior and fearless leader — a man who inspired people to follow him. But beneath the hardness that came with being the heda, he had such a fierce heart. Clarke knew it was this combination that would establish his legacy as the first heda to combine all clans into one kru. 

Clarke hopes he ends up falling in love with Gina, she really does. If anyone deserves to be happy and find true love, it’s Bellamy. She just isn’t sure she’d be able to stick around to watch it happen. 

But if all she had left with him was this morning before both of their lives changed forever, she wouldn’t waste it. 

“Only if you let me ride Apollo,” Clarke grins at him, swallowing the lump in her throat. 

“That horse might as well be yours at this point,” he pokes her side, teasing. 

They ride back to Polis, Clarke behind Bellamy’s favorite horse Demeter, falling into their usual banter. Once they are back in the city, they make their way to the stables. Raven already has Apollo ready to go by the time they arrive. Bellamy must have known she would want to ride him. 

The onyx, radiation-mutated horse nudges one of his two noses against her neck as they walk up and Clarke pats his neck in return. He’d been a 23rd birthday present last year to Bellamy from Kane. While the double-nosed creature barely tolerated Bellamy, it had immediately warmed to Clarke. Bellamy always argued it was because they were both made of fire, which never failed to make Clarke’s cheeks burn. 

“Off on a romantic picnic, I see?” Raven whispers, making final adjustments to the stirrup straps attached to Apollo’s saddle. Raven is Clarke’s closest friend in Polis aside from Bellamy and his sister Octavia, and the only one who knows about Clarke’s feelings. Of course, Raven is under the idiotic impression that Bellamy feels the same way. 

Clarke shoots her a glare, whispering back in a panic, “Shh, before he hears you. For the last time, he doesn’t feel that way about me. Might I remind you that his fiancé arrives today?” 

“A political alliance is not the same as him picking his chosen. All I’m saying is that he’s taking you on a scenic picnic to a secret spot apparently only you two know about. Not Gina kom Ingranronakru, you.” Raven gives her a pointed stare before moving away. 

Clarke closes her eyes, leaning her head against Apollo’s neck as she sighs. He snorts in response. 

“Yeah, I know I’m pathetic,” she grumbles at him. With a sigh, she takes the reins and leads Apollo outside to mount him before joining Bellamy. 

They ride in comfortable silence through the trees until the lake comes into view, their special spot. 

Clarke and Bellamy had both grown up in Polis — Clarke because her parents both served the heda and Bellamy as a novitiate. When they were little, everything between them was a competition. From training to their education to riding and everything in between. Bellamy was a few years older than Clarke, but that never stopped them from challenging each other. What had started as a bitter rivalry filled with disdain for the other turned into a deeper bond on the day they found the lake. 

It had been a cold day in winter, with snow flurries whipping through the air. But young Bellamy and Clarke hadn’t cared. They’d been too busy practicing shooting arrows while on horseback. It was a skill Clarke had picked up incredibly fast, which was unsurprising with her aptitude for both horseback riding and archery. But that only made Bellamy more determined to beat her at it. At some point, he’d challenged her to do a race through the woods. The winner would be the one who hit the most trees while still making it back to the castle on time. Never one to back down from a fight, Clarke agreed. 

There must have been a snake or bobcat roaming the woods because halfway through the race, her horse spooked. It immediately took off, galloping through the trees without hesitation. Clarke held on for dear life, but when the horse suddenly came to a halt at a small bluff overlooking a lake, Clarke was thrown from its back. When she tried to get up, her ankle gave out in pain. She must have landed on it wrong. 

Bellamy found her shivering on the ground, her cloak wet from the snow-covered dirt. Her horse was nowhere to be seen. She wouldn’t be able to remount and ride back without help. Without a second thought, Bellamy had helped her mount his horse, replacing her cloak with his own. They rode back to the city in silence, and he helped bring her to her mother, the heda’s healer, as soon as they arrived. 

That incident led to a cautious friendship between the two, with Bellamy transitioning into a protector of sorts. And after weeks of Clarke sketching the lake from that day, Bellamy insisted that they go find it. It had been their favorite place ever since. 

Now, Clarke sat with her bare feet dangling in the water, sketching Bellamy’s profile as he sat across from her reading. His dark curls were their typical mess, windblown from the ride out. His eyebrows were drawn together in concentration, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. She let her eyes wander over his freckles, making sure to get them just right in her sketch. When she was drawing was the only time she really allowed herself to look at him, using her artist’s eye as an excuse to stare. 

Bellamy had always been handsome, even as a little boy. All unruly hair and sharp angles. His skin was the perfect shade of golden brown, with freckles dotting his skin like the constellations in the nighttime sky. As he’d gotten older, he’d grown into himself and become even more attractive. Lanky limbs turned into broad shoulders and hardened muscles. He let his hair grow longer. 

But there were some things that hadn’t changed, like the mischief in his eyes or the way one side of his mouth would curl up into a smirk when she did something he found amusing. 

“Let me see,” Bellamy leans over to grab the sketchbook out of Clarke’s hand, breaking her out of her trance. 

“It’s not done yet,” she whined. She hadn’t gotten his facial expression quite right, yet. 

He looked at the sketch, his eyes roaming the page. She wondered if he could tell from her drawings of him just how she felt. All in all, Clarke thought she was good at keeping her feelings in check. But sometimes those pent up emotions made their way into her drawings. 

“Your talents are wasted as a healer’s apprentice, Princess.” His eyes were still fixated on the page, and Clarke was thankful he couldn’t see her blush. Eventually he gave the sketchbook back, and she sighed. 

“You’re going to have to find a new nickname for me, Bell.” She tried not to let the hurt seep into her voice. 

“And why is that?” he asks, eyes questioning. He’s lying back now, his hands behind his head as he basks in the sunlight. 

Clarke doesn’t answer him right away, regretting even bringing it up. This is their secret spot and the last day before everything changes. She shouldn’t have said anything. 

He sits back up, taking her hand. When she refuses to look at him, he brings his other to her chin to force her eyes towards his own. 

“Nothing is going to change. You know that, right? No matter what happens, you’re always going to be my best friend.” He searches her eyes, looking for some answer in their depths. It unnerved Clarke when he looked at her like this, like he would find meaning in her blue irises. It gave her the kind of hope she shouldn’t allow herself to feel, the kind of hope that would make this whole thing so much harder in the long run. 

“Everything is going to change.” And with that, she removes herself from his embrace. She quickly grabs what’s left of the picnic and her sketchbook, packing everything away and readying the horses. Apollo whines at the idea of heading back, enjoying grazing in the sun and drinking from the lake. 

Just like on the ride out, they don’t talk the entire way back to the castle. But it’s a different kind of silence — almost melancholic. 

Clarke had been in love with Bellamy for almost as far back as she could remember. There wasn’t a singular event or a particular turning point where her feelings went from platonic to something deeper, it was just always there in the back of Clarke’s mind. It was a simple fact of her existence. Her name is Clarke kom Trikru, her parents are Jake and Abby kom Trikru, she likes horseback riding and drawing, she’s better with a bow than a sword, and she is in love with Bellamy kom Trishanakru, now the Commander. 

After a few unsuccessful attempts at getting over him by other people in her late teenage years, she’d resigned herself to the fact that she’d always be in love with him. She would one day watch from the sidelines as he gave himself away to someone else and maybe had a family, and vise versa. But part of her would always look for him in every crowd and turn to him first whenever she had a joke to tell. 

The only other person she’d ever even considered being with forever was Lexa, who was another novitiate in Bellamy’s conclave. She was a late addition to the group of novitiates, having not been found by a scout as a child, and Clarke immediately fell into a whirlwind and tumultuous affair. Looking back, it wasn’t the healthiest of relationships, but it had been the first time anyone made her feel even a sliver of what she felt for Bellamy. 

Clarke probably would have made Lexa her chosen one day, but she had been killed the following year during the conclave that established Bellamy as heda. 

After that, Clarke shunned relationships. She’d faced the heartbreak of losing Lexa, the guilt of being glad she had died and not Bellamy, and she knew she’d one day have to face the heartbreak of losing Bellamy to Gina. That was enough pain to convince Clarke it wasn’t worth trying to create a happy ending for herself. 

When they get back to the stables, Kane is waiting for Bellamy. One look at his tight smile and sympathetic eyes, and Clarke already knows what he will tell them once they dismount. 

Gina has arrived. 

*** 

The next two weeks pass by in a haze for Clarke. She spends more time learning from her mother, something Abby is delighted about. Clarke had never been passionate about healing, more interested in art and Bellamy’s studies about leadership and government. But she was avoiding Bellamy and drawing typically led to sketching him or thinking about him, so she found other ways to occupy her time. 

From the gossip she’s heard around the city, Bellamy and Gina were hitting it off. Clarke had caught a few glimpses of them from afar, and she had to admit that they made a beautiful couple. She had long, brown curls. A kind face and melodious laugh. 

She knows they are taking it slow. While it’s understood that Bellamy would eventually marry her, Gina’s clan wasn’t in a rush. Clarke assumed it was because they hoped with time, Bellamy would decide to marry her as his chosen and not just for an alliance. That strong of a bond between them would theoretically make Bellamy more biased toward her clan than just a marriage in name. 

This is good, Clarke continues to tell herself. The last thing she wants is for Bellamy to be stuck married to someone he can’t stand. It’s not like he would have married her one day, picked her as his chosen, even if Gina wasn’t in the picture. They were just friends. Clarke hoped that if she repeated this to herself enough, she would start to believe it. 

Raven, of course, is insufferable. As is Octavia. Raven continuously tells Clarke that she has to tell Bellamy about how she feels before it’s too late. Octavia spends most of her time telling Clarke everything she hates about Gina. 

One night, the three of them are on the roof of the tower watching the stars. Octavia had convinced Jasper in the kitchens to make them a small cake to share, a old Earth recipe, and they were all eating it right off the platter.No one even bothered with the plates Raven had brought up. 

“It’s not that she’s a horrible person, per se,” Octavia rants. “It’s just that she’s all wrong for Bell.” 

She’s trying to explain to Raven why she’s convinced it would be a mistake for Bellamy to go through with the ceremony. 

“Oh? And how exactly is she all wrong for him?” Raven urges her to continue, giving a pointed look to Clarke. She rolls her eyes at her friend, taking another big bite of cake.

“It’s just…she’s just…” Octavia pauses as she searches for the right words. “Clarke!” She exclaims, making the blonde jump a bit. 

“You’d know how to phrase this,” she continues, nudging Clarke with her elbow.

“I actually haven’t met her to know.” The other two women stop, forks halfway to their mouths, to stare at Clarke. 

“You are my brother’s best friend in the entire world, and you haven’t met the girl who’s going to ruin his life?!” Octavia almost yells. Despite being the sister to the heda, the closest thing grounders came to what old earth societies called a princess (though only Azgeda still used those titles for clan leadership), Octavia was the farthest thing. 

She was loud and headstrong and incapable of sitting still for longer than a few minutes. She was a warrior at heart, the perfect compliment to her brother’s knack for playing politics. 

“Quiet down, you sound like a crazy person,” Clarke chastises her. “From what I hear, she’s perfectly lovely.” Raven just snorts in response. 

“She may very well be lovely. But she’s not right for Bellamy. He’s become all serious and sullen since she came to the palace,” Octavia complains. 

Raven perks up at those words. 

“So you don’t think he’ll end up picking her as his chosen?” she asks innocently, all the while looking at Clarke with a cocked eyebrow. 

“Absolutely not. Sure, they get along fine. But he doesn’t light up when she walks into a room. And he doesn’t tease her or argue with her. Not like he does with…well, you, Clarke.” Octavia says, looking over at the blonde, almost as if she’s shocked by the realization herself. 

Raven’s eyes go wide and Clarke prays that the fact that it’s dark outside hides the fact that her cheeks are a deep shade of red. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clarke assures the younger Blake sibling. “Bell and I are just friends. Good friends, but there’s nothing else going on.” 

“Well, of course he wouldn’t make a move if he knew he had to marry someone else. But holy shit, everything makes so much sense now,” Octavia gushes, wide-eyed. “Why you haven’t met her, why he’s been so pouty since she got here. You two are totally in love with each other. You are each other’s chosen!” 

Clarke groans. “Bellamy is not in love with me! And honestly, I’m glad he’s not. That would make this whole thing so much more tragic than it already is,” she mumbles. 

Raven moves over to wrap an arm around Clarke, but Octavia is already up on her feet. 

“I’m going to ignore the fact that we’ve been friends for almost as long as you and my brother have, and yet it still took you this long to admit to me that you have feelings for him. I have a plan to fix this,” she says, that mischievous glint in her eyes that runs in the family. 

“Octavia, do not meddle in this,” Clarke warns. “I’ve come to terms with it, and it’s time the both of you do the same.” She gives both women a meaningful stare. 

“My brother deserves to be happy. You may not be willing to do anything about it, but I sure as hell am,” Octavia says defiantly before opening the trap door that led back down into the castle. Clarke just slouches into Raven’s embrace, willing herself not to cry. 

Over the next few days, Clarke thinks a lot about what Octavia said. She’d never considered that maybe Bellamy depended on her just as much as she depended on him. Sure, maybe what he felt was more platonic than her dependence on him. But it did mean that she was hurting both of them by pretending she was okay with everything. 

At the end of the day, maybe the best thing she could do is finally own up to what she feels. Then she could get closure, and he would understand why she had to leave. And she does, have to leave. That is becoming increasingly clear. 

“Hey, Mom…” she starts tentatively one morning as she’s helping her sort herbs in the infirmary wing of the castle. 

“Yes, Clarke?” Abby looks up at her daughter, worry laced across her facial features. 

“I’ve been thinking… maybe it would be good for me to get some experience under other Trikru healers. Don’t most apprentices?” Clarke is careful to keep her tone light, curious. Of course her mom jumps at the idea that Clarke might be interested in taking a more formal approach to her training. Abby had not been shy about her hopes for her daughter’s future. 

“I wasn’t aware that was something you wanted, sweetie. But we can certainly make that happen. Maybe you’d be interested in an apprenticeship under Nyko in TonDC? He sent word offering you the option to train under him a while back.” 

“Um, yeah. That’d be great, Mom. Really anywhere you think I could learn.” Clarke nods hesitantly at her mother, who seems to be blooming with pride. Sure, healing wasn’t Clarke’s passion. But it was a way for her to make a positive difference in the world. More importantly, it was going to be her ticket to a new life. One far away from here. 

She spends her afternoon in the tower’s kitchens, sketching mindlessly as she chats with Jasper and Monty. Jasper’s parents were both chefs for the heda, and he helped out quite a lot. Monty’s parents were advisors to heda, specifically on agricultural pursuits to keep the clans fed (fed clans fought less). But both boys had grown up best friends. 

They along with Clarke, Bellamy, Raven and Bellamy’s two guards Miller and Murphy made up the rest of what Kane had recently taken to calling the delinquents. In her adamance of avoiding Bellamy, she’s accidentally started avoiding the rest of them, too. And she doesn’t want to waste her time with them before it’s too late. 

Clarke hadn’t shared her plans to leave with anyone. She hates lying to her friends, but it’s necessary. It will be hard enough leaving in general, and she doesn’t think she could bear to see the disappointment in their faces if they knew. They’d all just say she was running away. 

Of course, she should have known it wouldn’t take long for news to get back to Bellamy. 

He bursts through the doors, Miller and Murphy right behind him. 

“You thought you could just leave without saying anything to anyone?!” he practically screams at her. Jasper and Monty both jump at his tone, but Clarke is used to his temper getting the better of him in arguments. Her face remains impassive. 

“Boys, give us a moment?” she asks calmly, giving Monty and Jasper both a small smile to let them know it was okay. They both hesitate, which causes Clarke to look around Bellamy to Miller. 

“Come on. Let mom and dad have it out,” he mumbles, ushering everyone out of the kitchen. Clarke rolls her eyes at the nicknames they have for her and Bellamy, but she’s glad Miller is able to get them out of the room. The rest of the kitchen staff are bustling at the other end of the room, but they also filter out the other end to give the two some privacy. As soon as the door closes, Bellamy goes off again. 

“You didn’t even have the decency to tell me about it! Oh no, I had to find out about it from FUCKING KANE!?” She can tell he’s irate. His jaw is set and anger is rolling off of him in waves. Clarke understands his anger, she really does. But she can’t help from getting a little angry herself. As if she wants to leave her home? Leave her friends? Leave Bellamy? 

“You may be the heda, but I’m not going to sit here and be yelled at like a child,” she bites out. “If you want to have a mature conversation, then let’s have one.” 

He deflates a little at that, closing his eyes and sighing. “I’m sorry for yelling. But just… you’re leaving?” 

“Nothing is set in stone. My mother is just looking into a few apprenticeships,” she says diplomatically. The sooner she can extricate herself from this conversation, the better. 

“Since when are you interested in a formal apprenticeship? You don’t even like being a healer!” he snaps, though to be fair he does keep his voice down. Clarke just sighs in return, getting up from her perch on a kitchen stool. 

“Bell. I’m 21 years old. I was going to have to make something of myself at some point. I can’t just mull about in Polis, being useless. And as if you would let me become someone’s second to train as a warrior. You wouldn’t let Octavia, either.” 

“What about becoming one of my advisors? Isn’t that the plan we always talked about?” He seemed so convinced that it would be the right move. 

“I can’t, and you know it. I’m not old enough or qualified enough to be an advisor. Not when you are trying to pull together a coalition of the clans. This is the logical next step,” she tells him, trying to keep her voice calm and even. She’d always been better at seeing the bigger picture, and she’d have to be that person once again. 

“I won’t let you leave,” he says, indignant. His arms cross over his chest, and he levels her with a stubborn stare. “You have to have approval for an apprenticeship. I won’t give it.” Clarke can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. Shit, she really is going to have to lay it all out for him, isn’t she? 

“I have to leave, Bell. And you’re going to let me,” she fixes him with the same stubborn glare. 

“Is that so? And why would I do that?” 

“Because I can’t do this anymore!” Clarke yells at him, her voice breaking on the last word. 

“Do what?” he asks, clearly exasperated. 

“This! This thing we do where you pretend you aren’t promised to someone else, and I pretend that it doesn’t kill me every time someone so much as mentions her fucking name!” They both freeze at her outburst. They’re standing too close, having gravitated towards one another in their argument. And Bellamy’s wide eyes are searching her eyes. For what, Clarke isn’t sure. 

After one moment too long of silence, Clarke is the one who finally looks away and starts to step back. “Dammit, Bell. I didn’t mean—“ 

But she doesn’t get the rest of her sentence out before his mouth crashes into hers. His hands are cradling her face, and his lips are both softer and harder than she imagined all at once. 

The kiss takes her by surprise, but she’s quick to respond, wrapping both of her arms around his neck and letting her fingers drag through his curls. 

He deepens the kiss, nipping at her bottom lip until she grants access. His tongue delves inside, and God, kissing Bellamy everything she thought it would be and more. 

He pushes her back, crowding her against the stone tabletop. His hands are at her waist, thumbs rubbing tantalizing circles above her hip bones where her shirt has ridden up. Clarke doesn’t know if they stay like that for minutes or hours. Time is lost on her, and she’s drowning in Bellamy. In the way his scent envelopes her and the way his tongue explores hers. 

A moan escapes her when he eventually moves from her mouth to her jaw, peppering searing kisses down her neck to where it meets her collarbone. Everywhere his mouth moves leaves a trail of fire on her skin. 

“Bell,” she murmurs, her head leaned back. He’s barely touching her, and she’s already losing it. 

“God, Clarke,” his voice is low, gruff. Like he’s losing it, too. His hands travel upwards, tracing the skin under her shirt until he reaches the underside of her breast. He is slow to dip his fingers below the simple cotton underwear she’s wearing, pulling the fabric up and over her chest. She arches into his touch when he finally palms her breasts with both hands, giving a gentle squeeze. Grinning against her throat at the way her breath hitches, he uses his thumb and forefinger to tweak one pert nipple. Clarke groans. 

She felt like a horny teenager getting felt up for the first time. She’d been with her fair share of partners over the years, from the awkward fumbling around with Wells to the disaster of Finn to the heartbreak of Lexa to the dirty fling with Niylah. But this was Bellamy, and everything felt so new and familiar at the same time. 

He turns her around, crowding her against the counter. She can feel him pressed along her back, and she pressed against him. He continues his assault on her neck, sucking a bruise right at the juncture where her neck and shoulder meet. That would be fun to explain tomorrow. 

All thoughts of tomorrow are erased, though, when he lets his hand trail a path from her hip down to the waistband of her pants. He pauses for just a moment, almost as if asking her a question. She just leans her head back against his chest and nods, breathless. 

His deft fingers dip into her underwear, feeling the moisture that’s already gathered between her legs. She lets out a shaky breath as he spreads her folds with his fingers. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve fantasized about this,” he whispers in her ear, voice filled with irreverence. He strokes his fingers between her slit once, twice, before drawing insistent circles on her clit. The noise Clarke makes is something between a moan and a whine. God, she wants more. 

“Patience, Clarke,” he promises. She blushes, realizing she’d said that out loud. He trusts his middle finger inside of her, quickly joining it with another when she takes it so easily. “God, you’re so wet for me, Princess.” 

The nickname pulls Clarke back to the present moment, and she stills beneath his fingers. He immediately stops, turning her around to face him. He met her eyes with worry. 

“Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry, Clarke. I —“ she shushed him with a quick peck on his lips. 

“No, no, you didn’t hurt me. But Bell… what about Gina? I don’t want to be the other woman, not again.” Clarke’s body is begging her to just let go and worry about the morality of their tryst until tomorrow. He’d only gotten a couple of strokes in with his fingers, but she’s already so worked up. But this isn’t something that Clarke could just shove to the back of her mind for later. 

“I haven’t asked anyone to be my chosen, Clarke. Ai gaf yu, Prises.”  _ I need you, Princess. _ His eyes are filled with so much sincerity and desire. Desire for her. Clarke closes her eyes and lets her worries melt away. She knows that it was only a half answer. Maybe she wasn’t his chosen, but she would still be his wife one day. But she convinces herself she can deal with the consequences later. Right now, she just wants him. 

Her lips met his once more, and they wasted no time. Her mouth opens to his, and his tongue dives inside. Her hands find his belt, and she makes quick work of undoing it, pulling out his dress shirt from the waistband. He releases a groan into her mouth when she palms him through his own underwear. His hands move from their anchor at her hips to wrap under her ass, lifting her up on the counter. This puts her hips right where he needs to grind against the place she wants him most. 

He makes quick work of her own pants, pulling them and her underwear down at the same time. Her bra is still pushed above her breasts, and he takes the opportunity to lean forward and suck one nipple into his mouth. Even with the fabric of her shirt between her skin and his tongue, the feeling of his mouth on her is exquisite. He continues to tongue her breasts through her shirt, switching back and forth between the two periodically, while he slips two fingers back inside her. 

Now it’s her turn to release a throaty moan. He pumps his fingers in and out of her, searching for that special spot. As soon as he finds it, Clarke lets out sharp cry and her hips buck against his hand. 

“That’s it, pretty girl. God, you feel so good and tight around my fingers. I can’t wait until I can feel your cunt clench around my cock.” His deep voice makes the words even dirtier, and Clarke eats it up. She can feel herself getting wetter as he talks to her. She’d never been one for dirty talk in the past, but something about hearing Bellamy tell her how good she feels is turning her on like no one has ever done before. 

“More, Bell. I want more,” she manages to get out between the moans that continue to escape. He smiles, leaning down to kiss the inside of her thigh. She opens further for him, and he continues to kiss his way up her body while still rubbing his fingers deep inside her. When his breath fans over her center, she gasps. That gasp turns into something else entirely as his mouth descends to lap at her clit. 

“You taste so good, Princess,” he practically growls, going in for another lick. This time he says, moving his mouth over her clit in time with his fingers inside of her. Within a few seconds she’s writhing beneath his assault to her senses. She can feel herself getting close to the edge, and Bellamy must feel it, too. Clarke can feel him smirk against her as he makes her climb higher and higher. 

“Come for me, Clarke,” he hums right before he takes her clit between his teeth and sucks. Between that and his fingers rubbing insistently against her G spot, she’s a goner. Her orgasm rocks through her body, her cunt clenching tightly around his fingers. Her left hand comes up to her mouth to muffle the sound of her cries, and he continues to lick lazily at her clit as she comes back down to earth. 

He removes his fingers, locking eyes with her before licking her juices off of them. It’s the most erotic thing Clarke has ever witnessed, and her cunt spasms in response. 

“God, that was so hot. You look so beautiful when you come,” he whispers as he kisses his way back up her body. When she grabs him by his hair to drag his mouth back to hers, she can taste herself on his tongue. It drives her wild with want. 

“I want you inside me, Bell. Now,” she whines, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

“Bossy,” he chuckles. But he doesn’t make her wait long. He pulls down his own pants to mid-thigh, lining himself up with Clarke’s entrance. She kisses him with fervor as he pushes into her slowly, and holy shit she’s never felt anything like this before. The friction of his dick sliding against her is exquisite. 

He must feel the same because he groans into her mouth, his hands clutching at her hips for something to hold onto. “God, Clarke.” 

Slowly, too slowly for Clarke’s taste, he starts to move. He grinds into her, filling her with every inch of him. Clarke rocked against him, needing more. He pulls out almost all the way before thrusting back inside, hard and deep. Almost of their own accord, Clarke’s hips thrust to meet his. 

“God, Bell. Yes. Just like that.” And he complies, setting a punishing rhythm. His hands stayed splayed on her hips, pulling them to meet his every rock forward. And Clarke can’t help put lean back on her hands, her head thrown back in pleasure. 

Bellamy took advantage of the easy access, once again mouthing a breast over her shirt. Clarke moans, lifting her head back up to watch him. His eyes lock onto hers, and she can’t look away. The way his facial expressions change as he thrusts into her are hypnotic to watch, the way his lip darts out to wet his tongue. The way his hair bounces against his forehead every time he drives into her. Suddenly, she has to have her hands on him. She reaches forward to dive one hand into his curls, the other snaking around his back to grab his ass. 

This new angle had him hitting a spot inside her just right. “Ohmygod, Bell. Right there. Right there. Don’t stop, please God don’t stop.” Her breath hitches with every thrust, and his mouth finds her own. She can feel herself getting close once again, and she clutches to him as he pounds into her. 

“Faster, Bell. Faster.” He speeds up the pace, and they both moan as they both get closer to completion. 

“You feel so good, Clarke. Like coming home for the first time,” he says, his voice straining with desire. She can barely form a coherent thought, so she just kisses his neck in response. “God, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

“I’m so close, Bellamy. So close,” she whispers, her eyes closed as she grips onto him for dear life. The orgasm that’s building inside of her is going to drown her, she can feel it. 

He reaches a hand between them to thumb at her clit. After only two strokes, she tumbles over the edge into the most intense orgasm she’s ever had. The spasms are rocketing through her, and he doesn’t slow down, following close behind her in his own release. Finally he stills, her cunt still milking every last drop out of him. They collapse against each other, breathing hard. 

Bellamy kisses lazily at her jawline, slowly making his way to her mouth. He kisses her sweetly, cradling her head between his hands. 

“That was…” he trails off, looking into her eyes with adoration. 

“Amazing,” she half laughs, giving him another quick kiss. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve fantasized about doing that,” he smirks at her, his mouth doing that thing where it quirks up on one side. He sounds smug, and she’s tempted to wipe that look right off his face. 

“You’ve fantasized about fucking me against the kitchen counter?” she giggles back at him, her eyebrows raised in challenge. 

“I’ve fantasized about fucking you everywhere. The kitchen counter, one of the secret hallways, on a blanket at the lake, in my bed…” His cock twitches inside her at the thought, and she lets out an involuntary, “Mmmm.” 

Unfortunately, he pulls out of her. She almost pouts at the loss of him. They start to clean themselves up and redress. As they are coming down from their post-orgasm high, the stress and worry Clarke has been feeling swarms her again. 

“Bell?” she asks tentatively. He looks up from where he’s quickly stuffing his shirt back into his pants and catches her eyes. Everything she’s feeling must be on display in their blue depths because he strides over to envelope her in one of his signature Bellamy Blake hugs. 

His strong arms wrap around her, one hand rubbing circles over her back while the other cups the back of her neck. His face is nuzzled into her hair, and her face is buried in his neck. They stand like that, just holding each other, for a long time. 

“What are we going to do, Bell?” she whispers, her voice barely audible. 

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” he whispers just loud enough for her to hear. “I’ll talk to Kane and I’ll talk to Gina and we’ll figure out a way we can be together. Even if it means giving up the alliance and the coalition, I will. I swear to God, Clarke, I will.” And she believes him. He’d never lie to her. 

He pulls back to look at her, one hand coming up to caress her cheek. 

“I love you, you know that right?” he asks, and Clarke can’t help but give him a small smile. 

“I love you, too.” The grin that breaks out across his face is heartbreakingly sweet. This moment is everything Clarke has ever wanted, but somehow it doesn’t feel like she was hoping it would. It just feels...sad. 

“Just don’t leave okay? Give me a chance to figure this out.” He nods at her, face so full of hope. Clarke just nods back. 

She collapses against her door as soon as it shuts behind her that night. Sobs rack her body, and she curls into a ball on the floor. God, this is all just a mess. She just found out that the man she loves is in love with her as well. Isn’t this supposed to be happy news? How is it that the universe could take arguably the best news Clarke’s ever gotten and turn it into the worst? 

Bellamy and Gina’s union has been arranged since they were kids, since before they even knew it would be Bellamy as the other half of the union. There was no way Gina’s clan would renege on that long-standing of an agreement without pulling out of the alliance. No matter what optimism Bellamy held about the situation, Clarke knew there was no hope on that front. 

So where did that leave them? Clarke as his advisor and mistress while Gina plays the doting wife who pretended it didn’t bother her? That seemed like a miserable life for both women, Clarke raising bastard children and Gina facing her husband’s true chosen every day. And Clarke didn’t truly believe that was an arrangement Bellamy would ever agree to. When he spoke his vows, he would honor them. 

Which left giving up the alliance and coalition as the other alternative. Clarke had no doubt Bellamy would sacrifice it for her without a second thought. But Clarke knew that one day he would come to resent her for it. And if Clarke was being honest with herself, she’d hate herself for costing the clans a real chance at peace. 

Clarke had known from the beginning that there was no happy ending to this story. Nothing had changed. 

Lexa once told her that love was weakness,  _ hodnes laik kwelnes _ . At the time, she’d wholeheartedly disagreed with the novitiate. Looking back now, Clarke isn’t so sure she was wrong after all. 

Shakily, Clarke stands and wipes away her tears. Crying isn’t going to solve this. There’s only one practical solution for this. She still has to leave. 

Bellamy has to give it a real shot with Gina, and that won’t happen if she stays. Clarke leaving might hurt him now, but he would eventually move on from it. He’d mourn losing her, and then he would pick up the pieces with Gina and live a happy life with her.

Clarke would learn under Nyko in TonDC and spend her life helping people, helping her clan. She could draw in her spare time, and maybe sell her art at the market in TonDC or wherever she traveled. 

As far as endings went, there were certainly worse possibilities. 

With new resolve fueling her, Clarke quietly packed up her things. She would find her mother first thing in the morning and then set off for TonDC. 

Once her most important belongings were packed away, she sat down at the desk in her room. She wrote a letter to Raven, explaining why she had to leave. Telling her to come visit her in TonDC whenever she had the chance. Explaining that this was for the best, and promising to write often. She also asked her to give an envelope to Bellamy. 

Clarke scoured her old sketchbooks, looking for a specific sketch. It was a drawing she’d done of the two of them, him with both arms wrapped around her, kissing her temple. It’s one of the only sketches she has of him with a crown on his head, a relic from the old earth that symbolized leadership. When Bellamy had first seen it, he’d stolen her sketch to add a crown to her own head, though it ended up being just a two-dimensional crown that looked very out of place with the rest of the picture. 

When she finally finds it, she rips it out to write on the back. 

_ Bell,  _

_ You deserve to find happiness, and the clans deserve to be united as wonkru with peace. It’s better this way.  _

_ Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim,  _

_ C  _

_ May we meet again.  _ Though they typically spoke the warrior’s language in Polis, she always felt that phrase was more beautiful in the language of their people, Trigedasleng. She leaves both letters on her empty desk in her room. By the time the sun hits the stone of the tower, Clarke’s gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me. I promise it gets better...eventually lol 
> 
> I always appreciate feedback, kudos and comments! And feel free to check out my other fic The Choices We Make and my Tumblr [@changingthefairy-tale](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/changingthefairy-tale)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been absolutely blown away by the response to this fic so far. It honestly started out as a one-shot to help with writer's block, but it's now turning into a whole ass, multi-chapter fic. 
> 
> This chapter is significantly shorter than my first chapter, but that was the compromise for posting an update tonight and I've felt super bad about making you guys wait so damn long between chapters! I promise I'm trying to get on a more regular writing schedule with both of my WIPs, but I can't really make any promises on exact update timelines. 
> 
> Y'all are the best. Enjoy!

**{{one year later}}**

“My chosen absolutely loved the drawing you did of our daughter. Do you think I could commission you to do a portrait of the whole family?” Lemkin smiles broadly at Clarke as she hands over a few coins to pay for the bundle of herbs Nyko had requested from the market. 

Since moving to TonDC, Clarke had begun selling her artwork in her spare time. She only did one or two large pieces per month — Nyko kept her busy training both as a healer and as a warrior to better protect herself. But it allowed her to meet people and make friends, and it was something to fill her nights and days off. 

“I’d love to. I can stop by next week sometime, if that works for you?” 

“Sounds perfect. Reese will be thrilled to have you over, and you already know Mindi will make you stay for a meal,” he hands over Nyko’s order, and Clarke gives a small wave before making her way back through the stalls. 

TonDC wasn’t unlike Polis in many ways. People are constantly out and about, and the market stays open almost all day and night. It wasn’t home, but she had cropped out a space for herself over the past year. 

When she gets back to the infirmary, Nyko is talking in hushed tones to someone Clarke can’t quite make out around his larger frame. 

“Hey Nyko. Got the herbs,” Clarke tosses the bundle onto the countertop, unwrapping the scarf from around her neck. “Macallan said your request for honey would be ready in a few days. He said it was because the weather’s been too cold for the bees, but I personally think it has more to do with that redhead he...” 

Clarke trails off as Nyko turns around, revealing none other than Octavia standing behind him. 

“O?” Clarke asks, confused. She had tried sending a few letters in the early months of her settling in TonDC with no reply. Clarke had honestly thought everyone at the palace had just decided it would be easier to cut her off. Not that she blamed anyone for it. 

As Clarke takes in her old friend, she sees that Octavia has aged quite a bit in the last year. She’s still strikingly beautiful, of course. But she now keeps her hair braided back away from her face, and her features are drawn into a tight line. She looks immensely stressed. 

“It’s time for you to come home, Clarke.” 

“What’s wrong?” she immediately asks, her eyes dancing back and forth between Nyko and Octavia. 

“Kane got sick a few months ago. Your mother said it was advanced cancer. He’s gone,” Octavia reported in a harsh monotone. Her eyes gave away the only indication that she was in pain. Octavia and Bellamy looked to the flamekeeper as a father figure. This had to be devastating to them. 

“Oh my god, Octavia. I’m so sorry,” she rushes forward to envelope the young woman in a hug, but Octavia steps away with hands raised in front of her. 

“I’m not here for your condolences, Clarke,” she snaps. Clarke is taken a little aback at her tone, one she’s heard Octavia use plenty of times over the years but never directed at her personally. “To be frank, I’d rather not be here at all.” 

“Then why are you?” she asks, trying hard not to let any real heat into her voice. Octavia has every right to be angry, she reminds herself. 

Octavia just levels her with narrowed eyes, hands on her hips. Clarke stands there, not backing down from O’s gaze but not matching the look on the warrior’s face. Octavia studies her, as if deciding whether she will actually tell her the reason she’s here. The longer they stand there, the more uncomfortable Clarke gets. 

Finally, Octavia closes her eyes and heaves a large, exhausted sigh. 

“Because my brother needs you,” she gives Clarke a sad look and a small shrug. “And the clans need their heda.” 

“Of course, I want to be there for you guys. A few week’s visit shouldn’t be an issue.” 

“I’m not here to arrange your vacation. You need to come back to Polis, Clarke. For good,” she almost demands. She doesn’t look particularly happy with the idea of Clarke coming home at all, nonetheless permanently. It makes Clarke wonder what kind of state Bellamy must be in for her to go through such drastic lengths. 

Clarke bites her lip, glancing over at Nyko, who was standing there quietly watching the exchange. He gives her a slight nod, and that’s all the encouragement Clarke needs. 

“Give me an hour to pack my things and load up my horse.” 

To be honest, Clarke never really unpacked fully. Though she’d made a place for herself in TonDC, it was never really home. It ended up only taking about half an hour to load up and get a horse ready. Perhaps it was a sign that she was never really meant to stay away from the tower forever. 

She leaves word with Nyko to tell Lemkin that she wouldn’t be able to take on that portrait after all. And she gives him a fierce hug before leaving. 

“You were a great healer, Clarke. But we both know that you were built for more than a quiet life in a place like this,” Nyko gives her a knowing look that Clarke can’t quite decipher. “ _ Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim _ , child.” 

Once they are on the way back, an awkward silence settles over the two young women. It occurs to Clarke that in the haste of her gathering her things, saying goodbye and mounting their horses, the two haven’t spoken a word since Clarke told her she would come back. 

“How is my mother?” Clarke figures it’s a safe enough topic, though her mother does write her frequently. She hadn’t mentioned Kane, which is odd. But Clarke assumes that it was just because she didn’t want to worry her… or for her to come back before her training was done, more likely.

Octavia, however, doesn’t seem inclined to have a discussion of any kind with Clarke. She ignores her outright, keeping her head turned forward. 

Clarke knew she was upset, and she understood that she had every right to be mad. But were they supposed to traverse the forest back to Polis without exchanging a single word? 

“Alright, then,” Clarke mumbles, more to herself than to the dark-haired woman riding alongside her. “I guess we’ve concluded the talking portion of the day.” 

At that, Octavia pulls her horse to a stop. After a few feet, Clarke realizes and does the same, turning back to look at her.

If looks could kill, Clarke would be dead a hundred times over. 

“You wanna talk? Fine. What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Clarke? You just up and left in the middle of the night like a  _ goddamn coward, _ because what? Stuff with Bell got complicated? You broke his heart, Clarke! And aside from a few half-assed letters saying sorry without giving any real explanation, you basically fell off the face of the planet.” Octavia crosses her arms across her chest, reins still in her hand. 

Clarke feels the telltale pinpricks behind her eyes that tell her tears are coming. Refusing to show any weakness, even if she knows Octavia isn’t necessarily in the wrong, she blinks them away rapidly and puts her own mask in place. 

“Still feel like talking?” Octavia spits out at the blonde, eyes blazing with anger and indignation. 

Clarke sighs, breaking eye contact to look down at her own reins. 

“I don’t expect anyone to understand why I left, and you have every right to be angry at me for leaving Bellamy. I get that. But I swear I was doing what was best for him.” 

“No, you were doing what was best for  _ you _ . Don’t try to sell this as anything more than you running away when things got hard, Clarke.” 

“You think going to TonDC was the easy choice?” Clarke asks, incredulous. “I left my whole life behind, O. The place where I grew up, the last piece of my father I have left, my mother. Hell, the man I’ve been in love with for the better part of my life, for Christ’s sake!”

Octavia’s eyes widen in shock at Clarke’s outburst. She hadn’t really meant to reveal that last bit, but it was too late to take the words back now. After a beat, both women staring at each other and unwilling to break first, Clarke heaves a large sigh. 

“You can call it running all you want,” she says finally, her voice softer now. “But don’t sit there and tell me that it was the easy choice.” 

And with that, she turns her horse around and gives him a slight kick with her left heel to get him to canter. Maybe silence was the better route after all. 

Octavia catches up easily. Clarke had an affinity for riding, but Octavia was born to ride. It was something that made the blonde jealous growing up, but she’d long accepted that Octavia would always be more talented at things like horseback riding and sword fighting. It was just part of who she is, just like Clarke and her art. 

The two ride in a tense silence for a while, both being stubborn. It isn’t until they stop at a small lake to let the horses rest and get some water that Octavia speaks. 

Clarke is leaned up against a tree trunk cutting into an apple when the dark-haired woman plops down next to her. 

“You didn’t just leave Bellamy,” she says, quieter than Clarke thinks she’s ever heard Octavia speak. For a moment, Clarke actually thinks she imagines the words. 

She turns her head to find O pulling at blades of grass between her fingers, a habit from when they were younger. 

Clarke takes a risk, reaching out one of her hands to cover Octavia’s. She stills under the contact, looking up to meet Clarke’s eyes. They are a bit glassy, wide and vulnerable. 

When she decided to leave, Clarke thought it was the most practical decision. There was no happy ending for her and Bellamy, no galloping off into the sunset. But she also knew he wouldn’t see that, and he’d give up far too much in pursuit of something he thought he wanted. Clarke thought the most logical solution was to remove herself from the equation altogether. Bellamy and Gina could have a real shot at happiness, and everyone would move along without her. 

But she never stopped to consider that she wasn’t just leaving behind the man she loved. She was also abandoning friends, people who had become family. It never occurred to her that she might be hurting more than just herself and Bellamy. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice breaking on the phrase. “I’m sorry for leaving you and Raven and everyone else. And I’m sorry for not explaining why. I really did believe it was best for everyone if I just… left. I didn’t realize it was just my heart I’d be breaking.” 

A tear slips from Clarke’s eye, leaving a wet trail down her cheek. After a beat Octavia pulls her in for a hug. The position is a little awkward because of how they are seated on the ground, but they make it work. 

When they pull away, both women are sniffling a bit and wiping the wetness from their cheeks. 

“I’m not going to pretend that I get it. Or that I’m okay with it. But you were the first to forgive me when I pulled my own disappearing act a few years back, so I guess it’s my turn to return the favor. Just don’t run away again, okay? No matter how good of an idea it seems at the time.” She fixes Clarke with a hard stare, eyebrows raised awaiting confirmation. 

The blonde nods, eyes still glassed over with tears. Octavia stands up and offers a hand down to Clarke. 

“Oh, and just a heads up,” she calls over her shoulder as they rejoin their horses and get ready to continue riding. “I wouldn’t expect Raven and my brother to forgive so quickly… especially the latter.” 

Clarke just nods, more to herself than Octavia. When she left, she hadn’t expected him to ever really forgive her for leaving. Understand, eventually? Sure. But never fully forgive and forget. Then again, she also hadn’t expected to ever see him again. 

They settle back into a more comfortable silence as they ride throughout the rest of the day, and Clarke is grateful for the slight release in tension. They set up camp for the night, about halfway through the trek back to Polis. They were making incredibly good time just the two of them. 

They lay back against their packs, looking up at the stars and eating some of the jerky that Nyko had sent with them for the trip. 

Though the rest of the day had been much more pleasant after Octavia and Clarke had it out, she could tell the dark-hair woman was still distressed. Years of being raised together meant Clarke was pretty good at reading her, even if she hadn’t seen the woman in a year. 

“You can talk about it if you want,” Clarke says, light. 

She feels Octavia stiffen just a little from her side of the fire. “Talk about what?” 

“Kane.” Silence stretches between the two, and Clarke tries again. “I don’t want to pry —” 

“Then don’t,” the other shoots back a little more forcefully. Clarke sighs and props herself up on her elbow. 

“Look, I know that we haven’t seen each other in a long time, but you’re still like family. And I know you. I know you’re not going to talk to Bellamy about it, because you’ll rationalize that he has his own grief to deal with. And you aren’t going to talk to the boys or Raven about it because you aren’t a fan of being vulnerable any more than I am.

“I’m not saying you have to talk. I’m just saying that I’m here if you need to. Or if you want to scream or cry or throw something — though preferably not at me — while we’re away from everyone back on Polis.” 

Octavia exhales a short laugh at that, and Clarke plops back down on her back with a small smile on her lips at the accomplishment. 

Neither says anything for a while, long enough that Clarke starts to assume Octavia has fallen asleep. But just as Clarke is about to roll over to try to get some rest herself, the other woman sighs. 

“Him and Bell were all I had left, ya know?” Her voice is small, betraying Octavia’s youth that so often gets lost in her fierce energy. Clarke just says silent, listening as her breath gets a little choppy. 

“And I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. He wasn’t my dad or anything, so it’s not like I lost my father.” She’s talking faster than normal, trying to help conceal the emotion. But when her voice cracks at the end, she loses the last bit of her control and a sob racks her body. 

“But it also kind of feels like I lost my dad, you know?” 

Clarke gets up from her side of the fire, bringing her blanket and pack with her to settle down beside Octavia. She lays down behind her and wraps her arms around her middle, holding her as she cries. 

“It’s okay to be sad, O,” she reassures. Octavia rolls over to curl up against Clarke, her head tucked against the blonde’s chest. They hold each other like this while Octavia lets herself cry, neither trying to talk. 

Clarke hums the melody to a lullaby that her dad used to sing to her whenever she had a bad dream as a child, and she closes her eyes against the tears that silently fall from her own cheeks. 

After a long time, Octavia is still and her sobs have quieted to just the occasional tear. She still has her head tucked under Clarke’s chin, Clarke rubbing soothing circles on her back, when she speaks again. “Please tell me it gets better,” she pleads. 

Clarke’s heart breaks for her friend, a girl who’s the closest thing she has to a sister. 

“I wish I could tell you that you’ll magically feel better in a week or a month, and that one day that hole in your heart is filled, but I can’t,” she says back, her own voice filled with emotion. “It’s been almost six years, and I still miss my dad every single day. But you keep going anyway, and you let yourself cry at night when no one is watching. And you get stronger. And soon you stop feeling so much despair that he’s not here and instead are able to focus more on the memories he gave you. It doesn’t get better, but it does get easier.” 

Once again, they both lay there in silence, the only sounds the horses nearby and the cicadas singing into the night. 

“I’m still a little mad at you,” Octavia finally sniffs, huffing out a breath. But she burrows closer into Clarke, who just smiles a little. 

She waits until Octavia’s breath has evened out a little before admitting to the darkness, “I’m still a little mad at me, too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me? lol It's okay to hate me, both for the angst and also for not giving you any Bellarke this update. Next chapter will be from Bellamy's POV, so you do have that to look forward to! 
> 
> As always, kudos and feedback are always welcome. Tell me what you guys think! Do you think Clarke was justified in leaving? Do you think Bellamy and Raven will be as quick to forgive as O (who is still definitely irked, but not full-on raging out at this point)?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Bell,” Clarke murmurs, looking up at him through lowered lashes, obviously nervous. 
> 
> For just a split second, Bellamy considers running to her. It’s the first thing that crosses his mind. He’d stride across the room, wrap his arms around her and maybe the world would start to make sense again. 
> 
> But that thought disappears as quick as it arrives, and Bellamy steeled himself against it coming back around. Clarke had left him. She had made her feelings known, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. 

“Bellamy? I think your sister just arrived,” a voice calls out tentatively from the doorway, rousing him from his thoughts. Bellamy looks up at Gina, giving her a small smile. She returns a polite one in return before stepping back out of the room as fast as she had entered. 

He runs a hand through his tangled mess of curls. It had been over a year since Gina had moved to Polis, taking residence in the tower. And yet they were still barely what you could call friends. Sure, they were nice to one another. They even ate dinner together most nights. But Bellamy didn’t know hardly anything about her, and she didn’t seem keen on sharing. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to know her. But it was like a fog had rolled in on his mind, and more prominently, his heart. He just couldn’t muster the energy to care about what her favorite color was or how she spent her days. Hell, it was hard enough just to keep his head above water with his day to day responsibilities now that he was on his own. 

He’d been retreating into his mind more and more. But the more he tried to reach into the past lives in the Flame, the more confused he became about what he should do moving forward. And since Gina’s clan hadn’t required an immediate ceremony, he wasn’t in any hurry to address that particular thing on his todo list. 

Maybe that made him a bad person, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The only thing he seemed capable of doing these days was surviving. Nothing more, nothing less. Just keeping the clans afloat, Octavia out of danger and his heart beating. 

With a deep sigh, he pushes himself up to go find O. She’d been gone for a few days, and he had missed having her around. He knew she was grieving Kane, too. But she was much better at concealing her emotions, and her presence reminded him of why he needed to stay strong. 

But when he walks into the throne room, he’s stopped in his tracks by the blonde head of hair and striking blue eyes waiting for him. 

“Hey, Bell,” Clarke murmurs, looking up at him through lowered lashes, obviously nervous. 

For just a split second, Bellamy considers running to her. It’s the first thing that crosses his mind. He’d stride across the room, wrap his arms around her and maybe the world would start to make sense again. 

But that thought disappears as quick as it arrives, and Bellamy steeled himself against it coming back around. Clarke had left him. She had made her feelings known, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. 

“Clarke,” he greets her, his face arranged into a careful mask. 

The two stare at each other for a few moments. Clarke’s eyes are darting back and forth across his face as if they’re searching for something. He simply stares back with the same expressionless look. Bellamy refuses to break down and act like everything is fine now that she’s back. He may have been relieved to see her at first, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t hurt him. And it doesn’t mean he wants or needs her around. 

He has enough going on without her coming back to complicate things even more. 

Instead of further acknowledging Clarke, he turns to his sister. “Fun trip?” he asks pointedly. She sighs, rolling her eyes. 

“Bell, hear her out,” Octavia starts, her tone more hesitant than he’s used to from her. She’s almost acting as if she’s approaching a wild animal. Of course she would be sympathetic toward the blonde. They’ve always had a bond, and they both share a history of running away and leaving him to deal with the fallout. 

“I have neither the time nor the patience for this conversation,” he says passively, running an exasperated hand through his mess of curls. He’s about to turn to leave the room when the door opens and Gina walks in looking through a stack of papers. At first she doesn’t even notice the scene in front of her. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I needed to ask you a few questions before I send this update to my —” she abruptly stops once she looks up to see the three of them staring back at her. “Oh, I didn’t realize we had additional company,” she says diplomatically with a smile on her face. Her eyes are fixed on Clarke, and Bellamy can’t resist his eyes darting to see Clarke’s reaction. 

He swears he sees a flicker of hurt cross her features, but he assumes it was just his imagination or the trick of the lighting in the room. Not that it would matter either way. Clarke had made her choice, and Bellamy was living with it. 

They all stand there silently for a beat longer than is comfortable. The tension in the room is tangible, and he feels sorry that the poor girl is subjected to the awkwardness out of context. 

“Well, I’ll let you three catch up. Come find me when you’re finished?” she touches her hand to his forearm in question, and he nods. He knows he doesn’t imagine Clarke’s eyes fixating on where Gina’s skin touches his own. Once she is out the door, the three of them are silent once more. 

After what felt like two hundred years but was probably only fifteen seconds, Clarke clears her throat. “I see Gina’s settled in. I’m happy for you, Bell. Truly.” 

Octavia’s intake of breath is audible, and Bellamy finally snaps. It’s not the implication that he and Gina are a happy couple that does it, it’s the polite smile Clarke is wearing while she says it. As if he were the one that had just up and decided one day that he was going to be with someone else. As if he were the one that left her and not the other way around. 

Heat bubbles up in his chest and explodes outward. It’s a fire that consumes his entire body, making his hands tingle and his breath draw short. His heart is pounding, and this new sensation is all he can feel. It takes him a second to realize that it’s anger he’s feeling. Pure, unadulterated anger. 

“Fuck you, Clarke,” he almost growls. Clarke looks taken aback by his words, but Octavia just brings a hand up to face to rub at her temples. “Look, I didn’t need you here before, and I sure as hell don’t need you here now. Why don’t you do what you do best, and leave.” 

He knows it's a lie as soon as the words leave his mouth. There was a time not very long ago when she was everything he needed, when he would have given up everything. But he can’t take them back, and he can’t find it in him to want to, either. A look of genuine hurt flashes across Clarke’s face, and he swiftly turns and storms from the room. 

The red-hot anger is still coursing through him as he storms toward the library. He lets it take over his entire body, reveling in the feeling. It’s the first time he’s felt any semblance of control or power in weeks. He feels the need to hit something. To scream and yell and, frankly, destroy everything in his path. He takes a detour from the library to find the empty training room instead. 

As soon as the door closes behind him, he lashes out. There’s a punching bag hanging from the corner of the room, and he doesn’t even wrap his hands before striding across the room and throwing his fist against it. Pain radiates from his knuckles, but he can’t even fully register the sensation. He hits the bag again. And again. And again. 

Before Bellamy knows it, he’s covered in sweat and he’s stopped feeling anything at all in his hands. The burn of exercise has replaced the burn of his anger, and he’s draining fast. He takes one last meager swing at the bag before collapsing against it, holding onto the sides as he lets his forehead rest against it. 

As he catches his breath, the door behind him opens. 

“Feel better?” O asks pointedly, somehow managing to sound annoyed and sympathetic all at once. He tries ignoring her calculating stare. 

The truth was complicated. He didn’t feel  _ better _ , per se. But he did feel  _ something _ , and that was an improvement. He’d take this over that empty void, that helplessness that has washed over him for so long. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he grumbles, arms crossed over his chest like a child. Octavia just rolls her eyes. 

“She wants to help,” she tries again, but Bellamy whirls on her. 

“If she wanted to help, she should have stayed in TonDC!” he nearly shouts. Octavia stands her ground, though, crossing her own arms in defiance. 

“She’s here because I brought her here, Bellamy. If you want to be pissed at someone, be pissed at me.” 

“Oh trust me, you’re on the list, too,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes at her. “I cannot believe you went behind my back to drag her back here!” 

“You should have reached out yourself, and you damn well know it! She’s written letters, she’s tried to stay in touch. You didn’t want to open yourself up to that, and I get it. I really do. She left, and you were hurt, and you wanted to move on. But you should have told her about Kane, Bell. She deserved to know.” 

“She doesn’t deserve anything!” he yells, throat scratchy. 

“Clarke is family — despite her flaws and mistakes,” Octavia argues back, just as heated. Bellamy wonders what happened on the ride back to make O’s loyalties switch to defend Clarke. She’d taken her leaving almost as hard as he had in the beginning. 

“She left us, O. Decided one day that we weren’t worth it, and left to build a life somewhere else.” He’s pacing now, back and forth across the worn wooden floors. If he keeps moving, he can keep the emotions at bay, the tears and the hurt and the relief that she’s back that he doesn’t want to let himself feel. 

Octavia’s defiant glare softens just a litte, in a way that makes him uncomfortable. As if she knows something she shouldn’t. He’d never told her about that afternoon in the kitchens, pushing Clarke up against the counter. Telling her he loved her and that he’d fight for her. Begging her not to leave. And he couldn’t imagine Clarke discussing it with her either. But the knowing gleam in Octavia’s eye makes him think that she didn’t have to be told to figure it out. 

“Sound familiar?” Her voice is smaller when she says that, looking down at the ground sheepishly. Bellamy remembers Octavia’s own disappearing act almost too well. She had left to train as Indra’s second, a warrior, after Bellamy had prohibited her from doing it in Polis. And he also remembers how the roles were reversed with Clarke coming to him to plead on Octavia’s behalf when his sister returned. 

He looks up at the ceiling, taking a deep breath. He’s loved two women his whole life, and both of them had walked out on him. Bellamy didn’t want to think about what that said about him, that the two people he cared about most in life had run away from him. Maybe that was just the cost of the Flame, but he has a sinking feeling it had more to do with who carried it. 

“Like it or not, you need her, Bell,” she sighs. She comes to stand in front of him, taking his hands in hers and making him meet her meaningful stare. “You need someone to help you run this country. Someone who is smart and organized and who knows you and isn’t afraid to piss you off when necessary. Look me in the eye and tell me there’s someone better qualified than Clarke Griffin.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Octavia already knows she’s won the argument, if the miniscule smile playing at the corners of her mouth and determined look in her eyes are anything to go off of.

Bellamy didn’t think he could ever bring himself to trust Clarke again. She’d shattered any chance of a future they had together when she signed and sealed that blasted letter before taking off. But as much as he hates to admit it, she’s not wrong. He needs someone to help him make decisions. It was supposed to be Marcus, but with him gone… 

Despite what he’d said to her before, he did need Clarke. 

In an uncharacteristically affectionate move, Octavia brings one of her hands up to his cheek. “She needs you too, you know.” With a sad smile, she leaves and Bellamy is left to wonder how everything got so fucked up. 

*** 

Bellamy means to talk to Clarke the next day, he really does. But every time he sees her, he just can’t make himself gather the needed courage. He knows he can’t continue to put it off — Octavia keeps shooting him pointed looks and he knows he’s been in even more of a foul mood than normal. 

It’s just that every time he walks into a room to find her sitting with Octavia or catching up with Miller and Murphy or reading a book, he freezes. And then the rage sets in again; this all-encompassing anger bubbles up inside of him. He knows that talking to Clarke probably means another fight, another permanent crack in the foundation of what used to be their friendship. 

And he just… can’t. 

It’s been three weeks since she got back, and they’ve spoken less than 10 words to each other. To her credit, she doesn’t try to talk to him, either. Bellamy isn’t sure if it’s because she is upset with him, too, for his outburst back when she first arrived. Or if it’s her way of saying the ball is in his court. Knowing Clarke, probably a mix of both. 

_ You don’t know her, not anymore _ , he reminds himself bitterly. 

So far, he’s yet to encounter her when she’s alone, but of course his luck had to change eventually. He’s just escaped a round of particularly infuriating meetings with clan leaders, trying to negotiate terms for the coalition, ducking into the library for reprieve. Polis had the largest collection of old earth books that he knew of. Growing up, he was a bit of a book nerd, loving the stories of a world that had long burned to the ground. The library was always his favorite place in the tower. 

He settles into his favorite chair by the window, not paying a bit of attention to his surroundings. When he opens his eyes, he’s met with Clarke curled up in the chair opposite him. Her already small frame is pulled into a ball, and a sketchbook rests on her knees. And that’s when Bellamy is reminded that he wasn’t the only one who sought out solace surrounded by books. 

They both stare at each other for a moment, shocked to silence. The chair Clarke is in turns away from the door, which explains how he missed her presence when he first came in. But now they’re both stuck awkwardly blinking at the other, wondering how to handle the situation. 

Bellamy almost finds it funny. There hasn’t been a single day in his life where he’s felt uncomfortable around Clarke. Even when they fought all the time as children, she was always easy to be around. But the tension between the two now stands at a stark contrast. 

He finally clears his voice and looks away, running a nervous hand through his hair. Clarke quickly stands, mumbling an apology about intruding. Bellamy knows this is the best opportunity he has to talk to her and that a braver man would just get it over with. But he’s frozen in place, watching as she gathers her things to leave. 

She gets all the way to the double doors before stopping. 

“Fuck this,” she mumbles, and turns around. She has that look on her face, the one that always warned Bellamy when she was gearing up for a fight. He found himself rolling his shoulders back in automatic response. 

“I know you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be. But I’m done playing hide and seek with you in this stupid tower. If you don’t want to talk to me, fine. But you can not talk to me while I sketch in my favorite chair.” Her voice is even, jaw set. It’s a gesture he’s seen a million times over the years, one he used to always find amusing. But it seems even this won’t shake him from his constant state of anger. 

He gestures for her to sit with a bored expression on his face. With a curt nod, she curls back up almost the exact same position he found her in. 

They sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the scratch of charcoal on paper and the occasional turn of a page. It’s a tense silence. Bellamy’s having trouble focusing on his book with Clarke angrily sketching just a few feet away. He can tell she’s agitated by the way her left hand digs into the page, making short scratches instead of gentle sweeps. 

After at least an hour of it, Bellamy’s had enough. He sighs and closes his book, turning in his chair to look at her. As if feeling his gaze, she looks up and meets his eye. 

“How long do you plan on staying?” 

She raises a brow at him. “In the library, or…?” 

“Dammit, Clarke. You know what I mean,” he snaps, frustrated. At his tone, she softens a bit and her shoulders sag. 

“Sorry, it just slipped out,” she sighs with closed eyes. After taking a few breaths, her blue eyes once again find his. “I’m here as long as you and Octavia want me here.” 

He supposes he should be thankful for her candor, but Bellamy feels a small pang of disappointment at her answer. Half of him hoped she would say she was only there for a visit, and the other half hoped she’d say she was home for good. 

“Well, after talking it over with Octavia, I’ve decided you should relieve her of her duties as an advisor.” Bellamy doesn’t miss how Clarke freezes for just the smallest moment at the suggestion. 

“I’m not any more qualified to be your advisor now than I was a year ago, Bellamy,” she says softly. “Don’t feel like you have to give me something to do. I don’t mind helping out my mom in the infirmary.” 

Bellamy shakes his head, growing more agitated by the minute. He doesn’t want to be having this conversation. Every interaction with Clarke just leaves him stressed out and confused and angry. And she wasn’t helping any of that by arguing with him. 

“Look. As much as I hate to admit it, I could use the help with a few areas I know you have skills. Marcus isn’t here anymore and I don’t trust anyone else to give unbiased opinions on it. I don’t need two healers, I need an advisor.” He huffs out the whole speech in a rush, looking firmly at the ground in front of him. 

When Clarke doesn’t answer for a beat, he looks up at her. She’s staring at him with a weird look on her face, one Bellamy doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. It almost alarms him for a moment — he thought he’d seen every facial expression Clarke could possibly make. 

_ Just a reminder that you never really knew her all that well, apparently.  _ He can’t stop the thought from bitterly crossing his mind. 

“Okay,” she says at last, her voice small. 

“Okay.” 

Bellamy watches as she gathers her things and prepares to leave. But before she reaches the door, she turns around. 

“I just want to say that I’m sorry, Bell. For everything. I’m sorry for how I left things and I’m sorry that you and O had to go through all this with Marcus alone. But you have to understand that I left because I thought —” He cuts her off mid-sentence with a raised hand. He can’t listen to her reasons for leaving, her regrets about their relationship. Certainly not now, and possibly not ever. 

“I’m not interested in your apologies, Clarke.” He tries to school his face into a mask of indifference, but he’s not sure he can help the anger that leaches into his voice. Clarke was always the one who could turn her emotions on and off at the flip of a hat. It’s always been something he envied about her, especially now. 

“I may trust your judgement on strategy and want input on how we can get this coalition established, but that doesn’t mean I trust you with anything else. Whatever we had before,” he gestures between the two of them, unable to find the right word to describe what, exactly, they had before, “we’re done now. You made that very clear.” 

She straightens herself, her own mask falling skillfully into place. “Understood, heda.” 

She gives a quick bow of her head before leaving, and Bellamy is left trying to forget the hurt in her voice and the single tear that escaped as she spoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST. Don't worry, the tide will change in the coming chapters. <3 Anger is the first step to them reconciling, as is the #bellarke way. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated. :) Come hang out with me on Tumblr [@changingthefairy-tale](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/changingthefairy-tale)!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little angst, a dash of reconciliation and a sprinkle of Murphy and Clarke being the brotp we all deserve. Enjoy!

Clarke is starting to regret agreeing to take Octavia’s place as Bellamy’s advisor. 

She knew coming back would be hard. And that it would take time for Bellamy to forgive her… for everyone to forgive her, really. But she had underestimated how angry he was at her. 

They fight constantly, even worse than when they were kids. Clarke has half a mind to let him win just to placate him (and she knew he wasn’t being entirely unreasonable for being angry with her), but it isn’t in her nature to back down from a fight. Especially not when the fight is about the betterment of all clans. 

Bellamy’s an excellent leader, and Clarke had always known he would be. He’s kind and protective, and he inspires people. These are all qualities that Clarke admires about him, qualities she wishes she saw more of in herself. 

But damn if he wasn’t the most stubborn person she’d ever met. 

“Bellamy, that doesn’t actually solve the problem. If anything, it just makes it worse,” Clarke pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to stay calm. 

“No, it sends a message!” 

“No, it opens the door for more of them!” 

The other advisors and clan leaders are sitting silently around the table, watching the argument between Clarke and Bellamy apprehensively. It wasn’t the first time they’d argued in that room — that was an almost daily occurrence. But this was the first time what they were arguing about had any real weight on the fate of the country. 

Lincoln, Octavia’s… well, Clarke isn’t exactly sure what to call him these days. He runs Trikru’s intelligence operations, so he’s frequently gone for long stretches of time. Octavia obviously loves him and calls him her chosen, but the distance doesn’t bother her. It means she can live her own life without expectation to marry or bear children. 

Regardless of his label in Octavia’s life, Lincoln had sent word that he’d discovered a small spy ring operating in the outskirts of TriKru’s territory. Nothing impendingly dangerous about them, but it does bring up questions about how to proceed. 

Bellamy was in favor of taking them out, but Clarke thinks that’s too rash of a decision. 

“It’s short-sighted for us to eliminate the operatives we know about. At least now we can leverage what we know to find out more about what they want and who they work for,” Clarke explains calmly, her palms flat on the table. 

“We know exactly who they work for,” Indra counters. She was here from TonDC on behalf of TriKru. Clarke admired the warrior, but she was definitely more prone to rash decisions rather than an analytical approach. 

“No, we assume we know who they work for,” Clarke bites out. They all believe the spies were from Azgeda. And while Clarke doesn’t disagree with the assumption, she wants Bellamy to get more information before committing an act of war against a clan he’s trying to bring into the fold. 

“Why on earth should we just let them continue on with no consequences? That makes it seem like we’re too weak to do anything,” he insists. His jaw is tense, his voice gruff. 

“No, it means we’re too smart to let the opportunity disappear,” she reasons back. 

“So you’re saying my plan isn’t smart,” he challenges her, hands on his hips. Clarke resists the urge to roll her eyes, sighing heavily instead. Clarke recognizes this turn in the debate. He’s made up his mind, and him making it a personal attack rather than a logical discussion means she isn’t going to change his position. At least not today. 

“At least take a few days to think about it. If killing them off is really the best plan, give the order tomorrow after you sleep on it,” she says, standing from the table. The rest of the room looks at her, wide-eyed. 

“And where are you going?” he inquires, his voice no less heated than it had been during their argument. 

“It’s obvious you neither want nor need my opinion, so I am going to take my leave.” With an almost sarcastic curtsey, an old earth custom that almost no one practiced anymore, she turns to leave. 

“I promise to sleep on it, Princess,” he calls out before the door shuts behind her, his voice a little defeated.

Clarke tries going to the library to get some reading done for the meetings she’ll have later this afternoon, but she is filled with restless energy. After trying and failing to concentrate, she decides a workout might help calm her down. Changing into a worn tank top and training pants, she makes her way to the training room. 

She rarely used the training room on her own, even before she left. Clarke had always been more fond of knife throwing and archery as opposed to hand-to-hand combat. It was messy and improvised — two things Clarke did not enjoy. But there was something cathartic about letting her fists swing wild when she was frustrated. A satisfaction that not even the release of an arrow into a bullseye could match. 

After wrapping her hands properly, she let herself unleash every ounce of emotion she’d been bottling up the past few weeks on the punching bag. Every look of hatred Bellamy sent her way, every underhanded comment, every whisper in the hallways about her return, every ignored apology she tried to give to Bellamy or Raven, every petty fight they’d had in that blasted meeting room. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally drained the last of her energy. Sweat was trickling down her spine, and her face was hot with exertion. Her hair was falling out of her braid, and she tried to tame the curls back into place. 

“Feels good to let it out, huh?” the voice calling out behind her makes her jump, and she whirls around in shock. 

“Dammit Murphy, how long have you been standing there?” she snaps at him flustered, hand over heart trying to calm her breathing at the scare. 

“Long enough to know I do not want to be at the receiving end of your wrath,” he shrugs, a telltale smirk playing on his sharp features. 

Murphy was one of the only people currently not angry with Clarke. In fact, he hadn’t even mentioned her leaving. The first time he’d walked in on her in the kitchen eating some grapes after her return, he’d simply stared at her for a few moments. 

Something resembling understanding, or as understanding as John Murphy would ever be, had flickered in his eyes. Then he’d plopped down across from her and proceeded to steal half of her grapes, no questions asked about where she’d been or why she’d left in the first place. 

“It’s been a long day. What do you want?” A heavy sigh leaves Clarke as she collapses on the ground, lying back on the mats scattering the floor. Murphy takes that as an invitation to join her, walking over to slump down against the wall. He doesn’t speak, just nudges her knee with the end of his boot. 

“What, are you moonlighting as a therapist?” she snorts, rolling her eyes. 

He returns the gesture, then hits her with a pointed look. “Trying to be a friend here, Griffin. I hear you’re in short supply of those these days.” 

It’s a low blow, and he knows it. She sits up and glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. He’s not wrong. 

“He won’t listen to me. I could say the sky is blue, and he’d still argue with me on principle.” She sounds defeated, even to her own ears. “How am I supposed to be an advisor if he’s too blinded by his anger to even consider what I’m saying?” 

“You did walk out on the guy,” he reminds her. There isn’t any bite to his words; he just states it as a fact. 

“And I’ve tried to apologize for that. Me leaving was what was best for him, and for me. At this point, I think I should have just stayed away,” Clarke mumbles the last bit more to herself than to Murphy, but he hears her anyway. 

“Staying away would have been the coward’s way out. You’re a lot of things, Griffin, but a coward is not one of them.” 

“Well, I don’t know what else to do,” she huffs, ignoring the implication of his words. Clarke hates feeling like this, helpless and unable to figure out the logical next step forward. It’s driving her nuts. 

“Stop fighting fire with fire, for starters. We both know you’ve always been more of an ice queen, anyway.” Clarke narrows her eyes at him, but he raises his eyebrows in return. “I said what I said.” 

He gets up off the ground, reaching out a hand to pull her up with him. 

“Look. If there’s anyone in this damn tower that can get through to Bellamy, it’s you. You’ll figure it out,” he says, giving her an uncharacteristic smile. 

“This whole you being nice thing? It’s weird,” she comments, gesturing to his smile with her pointer finger. 

“Don’t get used to it.” He elbows her side teasingly before leaving, his signature smirk back in place as he walks out the door. 

***

It’s not until the next evening that Clarke hatches a plan to help Bellamy see reason. She’s curled up in her favorite chair in the library working on a sketch when the door opens. Assuming it’s Bellamy, she doesn’t even look up. No one ever really uses the library in the palace except for the two of them. 

But the person who collapses into the chair across from her huffing out a frustrated sigh is definitely not Bellamy. Clarke’s eyes dart up and meet Gina’s. 

“Oh, sorry to intrude,” she says, immediately standing to leave. Clarke has half a mind to let her.  _ Don’t be rude, Clarke. You’re the one who pushed them together. _

“No, stay. I, uh, don’t mind the company,” she responds, gesturing for her to sit down. Gina gives a small smile before sitting back down, though noticeably less relaxed. “What?” Clarke asks hesitantly at Gina’s expression. 

“Nothing, it’s just… the way you gestured for me to sit down. Bellamy does the same thing.” Clarke can feel a blush rise on her cheeks and she ducks her a bit, hoping her hair will hide the shade of red her cheeks must be turning. 

They settle into a silence after that. It’s not necessarily an uncomfortable one, but there is definitely some awkwardness between the two women. Clarke can count the number of times her and Gina have interacted with each other on one hand. She wasn’t purposefully avoiding her, but their paths didn’t often cross. 

Clarke goes back to sketching, and Gina just sits and stares at the window, obviously deep in thought about something. It makes Clarke curious — she’s always been a bit nosy by nature — but she doesn’t ask. It’s not like they are friends or anything. 

But eventually, Gina sighs again and looks over at Clarke. 

“Can I ask you something?” Clarke is surprised at the question, but nods. “Has he always been so…” her eyebrows are scrunched together and her lips are pursed, like she’s struggling for the right word, “detached?” 

The blonde actually feels a bit sorry for the other woman, and she feels her heart go out for her a little. Bellamy had never been great at expressing his emotions if they resembled anything other than anger, and he tended to retract in on himself when he was going through something. 

“He’s not the best at communicating,” Clarke admits. “You kind of have to force him to talk about stuff.” 

“Bellamy does not seem like the kind of man you force to do anything,” Gina replies dryly, and Clarke can’t help the small chuckle that escapes her. 

“You know as well as I do that he’s more bark than bite, especially for a heda.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.” That strikes Clarke as a little odd. It’s been a year, and while she hadn’t expected Bellamy to immediately jump into bed with Gina — well, frankly she’d tried not to think about Bellamy jumping into bed with anyone who wasn’t her — it’s been over a year. Surely by now in their relationship, she knew this stuff about him. But the look on Gina’s face suggests otherwise. 

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s been cordial. A perfect gentleman, really.” she continues. “But… we’re supposed to marry each other eventually. And he doesn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of having dinner with me, nonetheless being married.” 

“Wait, you haven’t already had the unity ceremony?” Clarke blurts incredulously. 

“We barely talk. We’re definitely not married, and I know better than to think he’ll ever call me his chosen.” She looks out the window, her mouth turned down in a small frown. And Clarke makes an impulsive, if not well-meaning decision. Against her better judgment, she’s going to help Gina marry Bellamy. 

She puts her sketchbook aside and plants her feet on the ground, bending forward to rest her elbows on her knees. 

“Bellamy is… the most frustrating person I have ever met in my life. He’s overprotective and he’s stubborn and he tends to act recklessly. But he’s also the best person I know. He’s fiercely loyal, and he’s smart, and he knows how to make people follow him. He’s an amazing brother and a great friend and just… a  _ good _ person.”

Clarke exhales, ignoring the pinpricks forming behind her eyes that tell her tears are on the way. She blinks them back, sliding that happy mask she’s mastered all too well into place. 

“Just be… real. Don’t take his bullshit and don’t let him shut you out. Trust me, he’ll let you in eventually.” 

Gina studies her with a weird look on her face. “Why are you helping me?” She sounds doubtful, and Clarke guesses that when you’re raised as a political pawn for your clan, maybe they teach you not to trust anyone who helps you for free. Bellamy was the same way, though Clarke knew it was for different reasons. 

“Look, I don’t know you very well, but I do know Bell. I think you’d be good for him… and he deserves something good.” She swallows hard, standing and retreating from the room. 

Gina’s voice calls out to her before she makes her exit. “You’re a good friend, Clarke.” She smiles in return before closing the door behind her. 

As she rounds the corner to the hallway where her room is located, she runs into a very firm, very familiar chest. Bellamy’s hands come up to steady her shoulders but they retract a fraction of a second later. She willfully ignores the warmth that radiates from where his skin touched hers. 

“Clarke,” he acknowledges. 

“Bellamy.” They both look down at the ground, an awkward silence falling between them. 

“I was coming to look for you,” he says at the same time she goes, “I’m sorry about earlier.” They both stop talking at the same time, looking at each other a little bit in shock. 

“Sorry, you first,” she tells him, and he clears his throat. 

“It’s just.. I was coming to find you,” he admits, a hand snaking up to rub at the back of his neck. 

“Did something happen? Oh god, is it Octavia?” Clarke’s mind immediately starts spinning with the worst-case scenarios, but Bellamy stops her with the shake of his head. 

“No, no. Nothing like that. I wanted to, uh, apologize,” he sighs, dropping his hand to his side. “For earlier today. I know you’re just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.” 

“I’m sorry, too. You weren’t the only one yelling. I’m sure the others regret me joining as an advisor already,” she half-heartedly jokes. The corners of his mouth turn up in what Clarke thinks might be the first actual smile he’s given her since she got back. 

“Nah, you bring color to those boring meetings. God knows you’re the only one who ever actually shares a contrary opinion.” 

“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, Bell,” she pokes his side with a finger. He swats her hand away, hitting her with a fake chastising look. 

“And look,” he says, getting serious once again. “I still think it’s a bad idea to let the spy network continue to operate. But I do see your point about needing to find out who they are working for. I sent word to Lincoln to observe for the next week and send me back a progress report on what he finds.” 

Clarke beams up at him. “Thank you. It means a lot that you took my opinion into consideration, truly.” 

“Don’t get too excited. After the week is up, we’re still taking them out. I can’t afford to have any spies but mine running around Trikru territory.” Clarke wants to argue, but she holds her tongue. He had heeded her advice, at least temporarily. They could fight about next steps when they got to that bridge. 

Silence falls between them again, and Clarke doesn’t know what to say or where to look or what to do with her hands. She can’t stare at him, or she might do something stupid like tell him she loves him. And looking at the ground seems awkward. They’re in a dark hallway, so it’s not like there’s really anything else to stare at, either. 

She sneaks a glance at him, and he seems to be having the same issue. A giggle escapes her, and she clamps a hand over her mouth. A dark eyebrow quirks up at her in question. 

“Sorry, it’s just… look at us,” she lets out something between a sigh and a laugh. He releases a chuckle of his own. 

“I’m not saying I’m not still mad at you, because I am. But truce?” he looks at her then, really looks at her, and she can’t pull her eyes away from him. 

“Truce,” she nods, her voice barely above a whisper. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she needs him to hear. But she knows that would just bring out his anger again, and she isn’t quite willing to give this up. 

She takes a step back, putting the emotions bubbling up back into the box she tried to keep them in. Smiling, she moves to the side to let him through. 

“Gina’s in the library. I think she was looking for you earlier.” 

“Oh, okay. Thanks. I’ll go see what she needs.” He takes a few steps past her before turning around. “Clarke?” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s good to have you back.” A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth, and can’t stop the grin that takes over her entire face. Things between them are a long way from where they used to be, and to be honest, Clarke didn’t think they’d ever make it back there. But this, at least, is a start. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave it to Clarke to think it's her job to set up the man she loves with another woman. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Thank you guys for all the support! As always, kudos, comments and all feedback is appreciated. If you are also bored AF now that we're all stuck at home with this pandemic, feel free to message me on Tumblr ([@changingthefairy-tale](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/changingthefairy-tale)) to talk all things #Bellarke (or any other fandom we're both part of)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a shit liar, Clarke.” 
> 
> “I’m not!” she huffs. “Look, I just want him to be happy. And if that means being nice to Gina — who’s actually lovely, by the way — then so be it.” 
> 
> “You being nice to Gina and you actively playing matchmaker for my brother are two very different things,” Octavia says uncharacteristically quiet from her place beside Clarke. The two young women share a brief look, and Clarke wonders once again just how much Bellamy’s sister knows about what happened between her and Bellamy before Clarke left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I thought WFH would mean more time for fic writing. L O L 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! It's a little longer than the past few chapters. :)

“Well, you look like hell,” a wry voice greets Clarke as she shuffles into the kitchens to plop down on an empty stool. Murphy, Miller, Octavia, and Raven are huddled around the countertop eating breakfast — bacon, eggs and freshly baked bread with raspberry preserves. The smell alone is already perking her up. 

Octavia elbows Miller in the side, giving him a warning glare. He just rolls his eyes and pops another piece of bread into his mouth. 

“I’m going to get going,” Raven announces, pushing away from the tabletop almost as soon as Clarke sits down. 

“Rae, you don’t have to leave,” Clarke calls out, giving her friend a pleading look. But Raven just folds her arms across her chest. 

“No, that’s more your specialty.” 

Clarke visibly deflates as she storms out the doorway, leaning forward to rest her head on the counter. 

“She’ll come around. She’s just stubborn as hell,” Octavia tries to soothe Clarke. 

“Raven’s got a right to be angry,” Miller speaks up again. There is a hint of an edge in his voice. Clarke knows that while Miller has been less outright vocal about his disapproval, that doesn’t mean she’s forgiven in his eyes. 

“I get  _ why  _ she’s angry. I just wish she wasn’t, ya know?” she takes a deep breath and sits up straighter. “But let’s change the subject to… literally anything else.” 

“Bell seems to be in a better mood now that you guys are on speaking terms again,” O mentions casually, avoiding Clarke’s eyes. 

“I think that probably has more to do with Gina and him getting closer than us not screaming at each other every time we are in the same room,” she mumbles back dryly. 

Over the past week, Bellamy  _ had _ been in a better mood. He didn’t fight her on every single issue she brought to the table, and she’d even seen him crack a few smiles. She had seen him and Gina go for a few walks around the markets in Polis. Clarke thinks they were hitting it off — something she actively reminds herself is a good thing, despite the ever-growing pit in her stomach. 

“Speaking of, when I told you to find another way to get through to him, I did not mean ‘use his future wife to manipulate him.’” Murphy points his fork at her across the tabletop, eyebrows raised in accusation. 

“I’m not manipulating anyone.” 

“You’re a shit liar, Clarke.” 

“I’m not!” she huffs. “Look, I just want him to be happy. And if that means being nice to Gina — who’s actually lovely, by the way — then so be it.” 

“You being nice to Gina and you actively playing matchmaker for my brother are two very different things,” Octavia says uncharacteristically quiet from her place beside Clarke. The two young women share a brief look, and Clarke wonders once again just how much Bellamy’s sister knows about what happened between her and Bellamy before Clarke left. 

“I’m just giving her advice when she asks for it. We aren’t talking politics, we aren’t becoming besties. But you told me to come back because Bell needed my help. This is me giving it to him.” 

It’s obvious that the other three aren’t happy with her explanation, or her decision to help Gina. She knows they think she’s just manipulating her, trying to influence Bellamy’s decisions. But that wasn’t it. Actually, Gina and Clarke hadn’t discussed politics at all. 

He deserves to have a happy marriage with someone he loves and respects and trusts. He deserves a chosen. And as much as it hurts, it can’t be Clarke. If helping the man she was in love with fall in love with someone else gave him that, then so be it. She’d bear the heartbreak. 

*** 

It’s almost dinnertime before they start winding down their meeting about drafting up terms for Azgeda to join the coalition. There was a summit of sorts in a few weeks, meant to be held with every clan currently in the alliance, and they needed a solid offer to present up front so that Azgeda didn’t have a blank check for negotiations. 

“You know our stance, heda,” Gustus says, kurt. The  Yujleda clan , along with the other clan ambassadors who have farmland, continue to insist on terms that favor them over non-farming clans. Clarke and Bellamy are both in agreement that Azgeda won’t stand for unfair terms, and therefore the offer needs to be more balanced. The rest of Bellamy’s advisors and other leaders are split 50/50 on either side. 

The group had been going around and around for hours, unable to find a compromise everyone could agree on. 

Clarke wishes that the decision could just be made by Bellamy. But since the clan chiefs would have to sign the trade agreement, it was something they had to get input on if they had any hope of it being upheld. 

“You’re being intransigent,” Clarke tries to keep her voice calm as she addresses the man across the table. “We have to come up with a solution that Azgeda, as well as everyone else, can agree to.” 

“We shouldn’t be helping them steal from us.” 

“A balanced trade agreement isn’t stealing from us! You know that their furs are worth three times what anything we make in Polis is worth, and winter is supposed to be brutal this year even for more southern clans.”

“You can’t just come in here and start dictating—” Bellamy cuts Gustus off before he could continue. 

“Enough! It’s been a long day. We’ll revisit this tomorrow. And we  _ will _ come to a balanced solution.” He levels Gustus with a stern look that has him straightening a bit. 

After everyone is excused, Clarke sees Bellamy deflate a bit against the table they had all spent the better part of the day at. She reaches her hand out to rest it on his forearm, a soothing gesture done out of instinct more than conscious thought. When he stiffens under her touch, she immediately pulls it back. 

Guess that was the line drawn in the sand for this tentative truce they had going right now—physical touch. Clarke tried not to let the hurt show on her face when he looked up at her. 

“Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “Old habits.” 

“Wait,” he stops her as she’s getting up to leave. “Thank you for, uh, today.” 

“For today?” 

“Well, for backing me up, I guess,” he shrugs, running a hand through his curls. It was his telltale sign that he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and Clarke wonders when she became someone he was ever nervous or uncomfortable around. She also wonders when Bellamy started believing that they were on opposite teams, when her supporting him became a surprise. 

The pit in her stomach grows a little more with every small realization of just how different their relationship, or lack thereof, is these days. 

“Bell, I’ll always have your back. Even if we don’t see 100% eye-to-eye and even if things are weird. You’ll always have me,” she reassures him, her eyes meeting his. 

A look crosses over his face, another one Clarke doesn’t quite recognize. But he doesn't say anything else, so she doesn’t push him on it. Instead, she just cracks a small smile. “Maybe Octavia will finally make good on her threats to challenge Queen Nia to a duel.” 

He returns a wry one of his own. “A better person would hope it wouldn’t come to that, but sometimes it’s tempting to let my sister do it.” 

Clarke knows from talking to Octavia that Bellamy hasn’t been sleeping well. That this whole situation with Azgeda and the spies isn’t helping with his grief for Kane. She wants to ask him about it, see if she can get him to talk more. But that could just lead to him going full shutdown on her again. 

Fuck it. If they have any hope of getting back to being true friends, she has to talk to him about more than superficial topics and politics. 

“How are you both doing with… everything?” 

Bellamy looks down at his hands clasped together on the table, obviously uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed. Clarke steels herself for a biting remark, for Bellamy to once again shut her out. But he surprises her with a deep sigh instead. 

“It’s been tough. Octavia’s never been one to talk about her emotions,” he admits, throwing her a knowing look. “I get it. Pot, kettle, black.” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Clarke chuckles, putting her hands up in surrender. He just shakes his head at her, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

“I just don’t know how to help her. She doesn’t remember our father at all, so Marcus was really all she had.” Leave it to Bellamy to focus more on how Octavia was handling things than how he himself was mourning. 

“But how are  _ you _ doing?” she asks quietly, prodding. He just shrugs, not making eye contact with her. 

“We’ll get through it. I hate to admit it, but… having you here has made things easier in that regard. Octavia was right that I needed someone like you as an advisor. Someone practical like Kane, but also, you know… a friend.” 

She smiles, genuine. It’s the first time since she got back that he’s referred to her as anything more than an advisor. 

“I’ll always be your friend, Bellamy. No matter what. We’re family.” They share a meaningful look, his eyes glazed over like they do when he’s holding back emotions. She knows that he’s already shared more than he probably wanted to, so she doesn’t push him further. That could be a chat for another day. 

But she leaves the room feeling something she hadn’t let herself feel in a long time… hope that her and Bellamy would be okay. 

***

Her good mood from her talk with Bellamy carries her through the rest of the evening, and she ends up sketching late into the night in the library. When she first sits down, her fingers start moving across the page almost of their own volition. It isn’t long before the strong shape of a jaw and the outline of a mess of curls come into focus, and Clarke pauses. 

No, she can’t do this again. Her and Bellamy are just starting to get back to a place where she can call him a friend. And Gina is actually quite lovely, and he’s obviously moved past his feelings. The last thing anyone needs is for her to secretly pine away for her best friend—that’s what got them in this mess to begin with. 

Clarke made her decision to leave because it was what was best for the clans, and for Bellamy. Now, she had to suck it up and deal with the consequences. 

Flipping the page in her sketchbook, she starts over. This time, she draws Octavia mid-fight, swinging her signature sword with more grace than Clarke had ever seen anyone manage in combat. She makes the warrior princess’s foe Queen Nia. It was a match-up that would never happen, but it’s been an inside joke amongst Bellamy, Octavia, and Clarke for years now. 

She’s smiling at her handiwork when the door to the library opens and Gina takes the chair opposite her. 

“I was hoping I could find you here,” she says in greeting. The two had been more friendly of late. Clarke had made an effort to speak to her in the mornings when they got breakfast at the same time, and it wasn’t uncommon that Gina would have to interrupt meetings for something else that needed Bellamy’s attention. 

“This room has pretty much been my sanctuary, ever since I was a kid,” Clarke responds with a smile. 

“Funny, Bellamy said almost that exact thing when I teased him about spending so much time in here.” 

Clarke can’t help but let a small chuckle escape as she shakes her head. “Yeah, you’re actually sitting in his brooding chair.” 

“Brooding chair?” 

“Whenever he’s stressed or angry or just in one of his moods, he’ll sit right there and stare out the window like some character in one of thoses old earth books he loves so much. He’s done it ever since he was a teenager, before his conclave,” she explains, memories popping up in Clarke’s head of so many afternoons spent in these two chairs. She used to throw wadded up paper balls at him when he sat there for too long, warning him that his face would get stuck in that pensive frown if he wasn’t careful. 

“There’s so much I don’t know about him,” Gina says, sounding a little hurt by the prospect. Clarke gave the other woman a sympathetic smile. 

“You have your whole lives to find out his idiosyncrasies.” She actively bites down the small pang that hits her chest when she says it. 

“Maybe…” Gina trails off before giving her head a small shake. “Anyway, I came to ask for your advice, actually.” 

“Of course. What’s up?” 

“Well, I would like to do something nice for Bellamy. We’ve been going walks in our spare time, but that’s really just been around Polis and near the tower. And he’s been so stressed with everything going on and still dealing with his flamekeeper’s death… I just would like to help him loosen up a bit. Get him out of the palace and out from under that crown.” Gina doesn’t make eye contact as she rambles, talking faster than normal. It’s obvious she cares about him, and that makes Clarke smile. 

Despite it hurting to know Bellamy would end up with someone else, at least she knew he would end up with someone who genuinely cared about his happiness and helping him enjoy life as more than just a monarch. 

“You should take him on a horseback ride. They always help him relax, and it’s an easy way to get him away from the tower for an afternoon. Just ask Jasper and Monty in the kitchens to pack up a picnic,” she suggests. After a second, she thinks better of trusting Monty and Jasper not to include a few… we’ll call them off menu items. “But don’t accept any food items with the word ‘special’ in the name, or any unidentified liquids. Trust me,” she warns. 

Gina just laughs. “Got it. I’ll ask Raven to make sure horses are ready for us. Does he have a favorite horse to ride? Apollo is the one Kane gave him, right?” 

“Apollo is the horse Kane got him, but he and Bellamy don’t exactly… get on,” Clarke says with a grimace. “Demeter is his favorite, and Raven knows that. If you just tell her your plans, she’ll be able to get everything set up for you guys to be ready to go with the horses.” 

“God, you’re like an Bellamy encyclopedia,” Gina jokes. Clarke smiles in return, but she knows it doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“Growing up with him will do that,” she says dryly. “Octavia honestly probably knows even more than I do, though.” 

“Octavia hasn’t exactly warmed up to me, yet,” she admits, biting her lip. 

“She takes a long time to warm up to anyone, especially when it comes to her brother. Give her time, too.” 

Gina takes a minute to process that before standing up to go. Clarke goes back to putting the finishing touches on her sketch. 

“Thanks again for your help, Clarke,” she smiles. 

“Anything for Bell.” She keeps repeating that to herself long after Gina leaves the library, hoping that if she says it enough times the hurt will start to fade. 

*** 

Clarke should have known that the good mood she’d found herself in would end up breaking. Things had been going too well, and Clarke has never been that lucky. 

It’s a few days after her talk with Gina in the library, and Clarke is craving something sweet. It’s late, which means the kitchen should be empty. If anything, maybe Monty and Jasper are still up and making some concoction or another. She wouldn’t mind the company. 

But when she rounds the corner into the doorway of the kitchens, it’s definitely not Monty and Jasper waiting for her. 

Bellamy is leaned up against the island countertop, his curls dipped low across his forehead and his lips locked with Gina. She has her back to Clarke, and both of her arms are wrapped around Bellamy’s neck. His hands are braced on the countertop behind him. They are standing in the same spot that Clarke and Bellamy had kissed that day before she left. 

For a moment Clarke is frozen, unable to move her feet and unable to look away. She’d never seen Bellamy kiss anyone before. Of course he had—he’d had his fair share of dalliances as they were growing up just like her. But they’d always kept those relationships separate from their friendship. 

She has to admit that they look good together. She’s a little bit taller than Clarke, though still a few inches shorter than Bellamy. And her brown hair falls in gorgeous curls down her back. Neither of them notice Clarke, apparently too wrapped up in each other. Together, they just seem to… fit. 

It’s that realization that tears Clarke out of the entryway and back down the hallway. She’s almost running back toward her room, the telltale pin pricks of tears erupting behind her eyes. She blinks back the tears, doing her best to avoid busier hallways. 

The pit that had started growing the second she’d returned has erupted, almost making it hard to breathe. It wasn’t even her seeing him with someone else that did it. Bellamy had never been expressly Clarke’s. But he’d also never been anyone else’s. Until Gina. 

Gina wasn’t just some fling, a random relationship that would end eventually. No, she was going to be Bellamy’s wife. She would be his and he would be hers. And  _ that _ is what hurts. That’s what broke the dam that was holding all of Clarke’s emotions at bay. 

She’s doing a shit job at keeping the tears locked behind her eyes, and a couple of rogue droplets fall down their cheeks. Of course, it’s then that she passes Raven. 

Raven looks up as she passes, a look of concern immediately taking over her features. 

“Clarke?” 

Clarke just shakes her head, continuing to walk past. She can’t take any of Raven’s “I told you so”s or any judgment. She knows she brought this upon herself, but dammit, that doesn’t make it hurt any less. If anything, that just makes it worse. 

Whatever gods are out there must take pity on her, because she’s able to make it to her room and shut the door behind her before she collapses. Clarke doesn’t even make it to the bed, just sliding onto the floor next to it. She wraps up into a ball and lets herself cry. 

An insistent knock at the door makes Clarke’s head pop up. When she doesn’t respond, the door opens and Raven walks in. 

“What the hell happened, Clarke?” 

“I’m not in the mood, Raven.” Her voice sounds wobbly, even to her own ears, and she knows she must look pathetic sitting there on the floor. 

Clarke assumes Raven will either leave or go in on her—that’s pretty much the only interaction she’s had with her former friend since she got back. But to her surprise, the dark-headed woman sinks onto the floor next to Clarke without another word. 

Instead, she just holds a hand out palm up for Clarke to take. She meets Raven’s eyes, but there is no pity there. Only acknowledgment and a fierceness that makes Clarke feel like it’s okay to fall apart a little bit. She takes her hand and gives it a squeeze, dropping her head back down to her knees. 

They sit there like that unmoving for a long time. Clarke continues to sob, her body heaving when she tries to take calming breaths. Raven’s presence is calming, and she’s thankful for the silence. Anyone else would have prodded Clarke to tell them what’s wrong or tried to comfort her, but Raven had never been one for unwanted sympathy. And to be honest, Clarke didn’t really think Raven was all that sympathetic to her situation anyway. 

Which begged the question, why on earth was Raven sitting on Clarke’s floor with her? 

“Because I’m your friend, idiot.” Clarke gives Raven a confused look, but then realizes she must have voiced that last bit out loud. 

“I didn’t think you were very interested in being my friend these days,” she admits, sitting up and letting go of Raven’s hand to wipe some of the wetness from her cheeks. 

“No, I’m angry at you for leaving—both because you didn’t tell me you were doing it and because of what it did to Bellamy. But I can be mad at you and still be your friend when you need me.” 

“If you’re mad at me, then why are you here?” At that, Raven’s eyes do soften a little. 

“Because I know  _ why _ you left,” she answers, her voice quieter. “And I also know that Bellamy and Gina took the horses out on what seemed an awful lot like a date.” 

“It’s not that they went out on a date. I knew that was happening. Hell, I helped Gina plan it.” Raven shoots Clarke an incredulous look at that, one eyebrow cocked. But Clarke just shoots her a sideways look. “But then I walked in on them kissing in the kitchens. And just…” 

  
  


At that, Clarke feels her eyes water up again. “He’s going to marry her, Rae.” Her voice breaks on the word ‘marry,’ and she can’t keep the tears from falling down again. 

“And I knew this would happen. I’ve known it was going to happen since we were just kids. But I didn’t think I’d be here to watch it,” she sniffs. Raven sighs, shaking her head. 

“Then why come back?” 

“O said he needed me, and I just…” 

“Needed him, too?” Raven supplies. Clarke lets out a shaky breath. 

“Something like that,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself again. “I’ve been in love with him since before I even knew what love was, Rae. I couldn’t just stay in TonDC when Octavia told me about Marcus. I couldn’t let him go through that alone, even if I knew it would hurt me to see him with someone else.” 

“I’ve never quite understood why your plan was to leave in the first place. If you love him so much, why not fight for him? I know you don’t believe me, but he is backwards ass in love with you. He’d have chosen you.” 

Clarke falls silent, looking away from Raven’s gaze. When she doesn’t say anything, Raven shuts her eyes and shakes her head. 

“But you know that, don’t you?” she mutters, bringing her hands to run through her hair. “You didn’t leave because you were afraid he wouldn’t choose you. You left because you were afraid he  _ would _ .” 

“He would have regretted it eventually, Raven. His options would have been to marry Gina and make me his mistress, which we both know he’s too good of a man to do, or abdicate. And he would have eventually resented me for making him choose between me and being the King of Arkadia.” 

“Did you ever ask Bellamy about any of this? Or did you just make a unilateral decision about it without even telling him how you felt about him?” Her tone is accusatory, and Clarke can’t really blame her for it. She’d never told Raven about what happened in the kitchen. And she didn’t want to get into it now. This hurt enough as it is, and she wanted to keep that between her and Bellamy. The only thing left that’s just…  _ theirs _ . 

“He knew,” she says instead, not willing to elaborate further. “As much as it hurts, this is the best thing for him—and Arkadia. I’ll be heartbroken for a while, but then I’ll learn to live with it.” 

“You might, but he won’t,” Raven argues, rolling her eyes. “Regardless of if you saw them kissing, he still loves you. And being with Gina isn’t going to make that go away, especially now that you’re back.” 

Clarke ignores the surge of hope that bubbles up within her at Raven’s words. No, there is no version of this where that ends happily. Even if he did still love her like that—and he probably didn’t—the situation hasn’t changed. 

“He doesn’t. And even if he did, it doesn’t change anything. There is no happy ending here for me, Raven. He wasn’t mine before, and he certainly isn’t mine now. I just have to accept that and move on. I made my choice, and now I get to live with it.” 

There is a finality to her tone, and Raven must hear it, too. The other woman just stares at Clarke for another moment before pulling her into a fierce hug. It catches Clarke off guard, but she leans into the embrace and wraps her arms around her friend. 

“I’m still mad at you,” she mutters, her chin resting on Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke lets out a chuckle, wiping fresh tears once more off of her cheeks. It’s exactly what Octavia had said to her on their way back to the palace. She pulls back and gives her friend a small smile. 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around these days.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me? I would hate me. lol BUT I promise that it will all soon work out for our favs. Be patient with me and revel in the angst. 
> 
> Also, HUGE shoutout to my new beta reader @loverosie! I hope you are all staying safe and sane during everything going on. I'm always available to chat on Tumblr if anyone needs human interaction and a good debate about The 100 S7 speculation! [@changingthefairy-tale](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/changingthefairy-tale)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So after some feedback from the ever-amazing @loverosie and a few other readers, I decided to edit this story to take place as a canonverse AU rather than a random fantasy AU. This way the setting makes more sense. The plot remains the same, though I'd still suggest reading the first 5 chapters as a refresher (since I also made you guys wait two months for an update). 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! <3

When Bellamy walks into the kitchens, earlier than breakfast is typically served, he’s not expecting to see Murphy and Clarke sitting together at the countertop. Murphy is giving Clarke an amused smirk as she throws a piece of bread at him, giggling at something he must have said. 

It’s a sound he hasn’t heard in a while, her unabashed laughter. He and Clarke have maintained a truce of sorts in the past couple of months, but things weren’t back to how they were before. They probably never would be, and Bellamy can’t decide how he feels about it. 

Bellamy tries not to let it sting that Murphy and Clarke have gotten closer since her return. Murphy has always been a bit prickly and rude, but Clarke has always been an exception of sorts. He’s still brash and sarcastic, but there’s also a fondness there between the two, an understanding. 

Since she came back, he’s been at her side more and more. Logically, Bellamy knows they are only friends, and he also knows it isn’t his place to have an opinion on it even if they were more than friends. But jealousy has never been a logical emotion, and he can’t stop it from settling deep in his chest. 

Murphy looks up and catches his eye, and Bellamy realizes he’s been staring. 

“You’re both up early,” he comments, stealing a bit of the bread on the counter. 

“Clarke’s started combat training,” Murphy answers, and Bellamy can see Clarke ducking her head a bit out of the corner of his eye. 

“The rest of your advisors are battle trained. Seems ridiculous that I’m not aside from archery,” she jumps in, her voice sounding a bit more tense than normal. 

Bellamy lets this sink in for a moment, trying not to let the first thought out of his mouth. He isn’t keen on Clarke training — it was a recipe for disaster. She could get hurt. Or worse, she could excel in the way she does everything and decide to leave again to become someone’s second. But he recognizes that isn’t a decision he can make for her. 

“And you’re the one training her?” he asks instead, skeptical of Murphy’s ability to train anyone. He was a loyal guard, but training someone required patience that the man just didn’t possess. 

“Nah, I’m just her human training dummy,” Murphy chuckles. 

“Octavia is training me, but Murphy volunteered to be my sparring partner,” Clarke clarifies, shooting Murphy a look across the counter. 

“Volunteered is a strong word. More like I’m the only one in this stupid tower who isn’t scared of fighting you,” he shoots back. That catches Bellamy’s attention. 

“Why would anyone be scared of fighting Clarke?” 

Murphy just raises his eyebrows back at him, unimpressed. It takes a second for his meaning to sink in. Everyone else would be worried about what Bellamy would do if they hurt Clarke. The tips of his ears immediately warm. 

“You’re full of it, Murphy,” Clarke chuckles nonchalantly, standing up from her stool. She must not have caught the implication. As she cleans up after herself, Bellamy can’t help himself from asking. 

“Are you leaving?” 

“Um, yeah. Lincoln’s back and I want to talk to him before our meetings start for the day.” With a final look at Murphy that he can’t quite read, she hustles out of the kitchen. Bellamy is left staring across the table at Murphy, who just shrugs at Bellamy as if to say,  _ Women, what can you do?  _

“So you and my sister are training Clarke.” He tries to make his voice sound bored, unaffected. But per usual, Murphy’s sharp gaze cuts right through it. Murphy gives him a sympathetic look. 

“She’s good. Not good enough to want to run off to battle the next time TriKru has a skirmish with Azgeda, but good enough not to get hurt in a fair fight. No worries, heda,” Murphy claps him on the shoulder once as he follows Clarke out of the room. Bellamy is left once again wondering whether he’s grateful for Murphy or if he would rather push him from the highest balcony in the tower. 

Bellamy spends the rest of the morning prepping for the day’s meetings. He feels a bit guilty for grabbing breakfast so early, but he isn’t in the mood to spend time with Gina. Of course, that thought only makes him feel more guilty. 

Gina’s trying, and he does like her. She’s sweet, and she is also obviously intelligent. Lately, she’s been more persistent in trying to spend time with him. They get along really well, almost too well. On paper, it’s all working out according to plan. 

About a week ago, he and Gina had gone on their first ride outside of Polis together. She had told him about the village where she grew up, and he had told her about his growing up in Polis as a novitiate. They had both admitted to being wary of their forced relationship, and promised to start giving it a real shot. Gina had even kissed him once they were back inside the tower walls. 

It was nice. 

But that only made Bellamy want to slow things down even more. After Clarke left, he swore he wasn’t going to jump into anything. It’s been more than a year, but he’s still worried about the potential for things to go wrong. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s also a bit worried about the potential for things to go right. 

Regardless of his heart’s motives, which Bellamy’s head rarely truly understands, he just can’t bring himself to play the doting future husband this morning. Not with so many things on his mind and a day full of meetings that are sure to be exhausting. 

So he stays locked away in his chambers, going over recent intel reports and complaints from assorted clans. 

When he walks into the meeting room, Lincoln, Clarke, and Octavia are all in the middle of what appears to be an intense debate. Lincoln is sitting at the table, staring up at the two women, who are in the middle of a staredown. 

“Clarke, it’s too soon,” Octavia warns in a hushed tone. 

“It’s not a bad plan, Octavia,” Lincoln laments. Clarke’s eyebrows raise in triumph, but Octavia just glares at the blonde. 

When Lincoln sees Bellamy in the doorway trailed by Murphy and Miller, he clears his throat. Octavia and Clarke immediately straighten, though the tension in the room doesn’t dissipate. 

“What’s going on?” Bellamy asks, not in the mood to beat around the bush. The other three exchange a look before Clarke hands over a torn piece of paper. 

It’s a crude charcoal drawing, obviously Lincoln’s handiwork. The shoulder-length long hair, piercing eyes, and angular features are distinctive enough on their own, but the jagged scar etched along the side of his face just confirms it. 

Roan kom Azgeda. 

“Looks like the exiled prince is trying to get back in his mother’s good graces,” Octavia all but growls, her distaste for the northern clan plain. 

“Lincoln, you’re sure Roan is one of the spies?” Bellamy ignores his sister’s accusation, waiting for Lincoln to confirm. He nods, solemn. 

“I was hesitant to believe the reports, but I saw him myself lurking in a tavern at the edge of Trikru territory. While there’s a possibility he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time…” 

Lincoln has always been one of the most level-headed men Bellamy has ever known. It’s a wonder that he and Octavia make their relationship work so seamlessly considering they are almost polar opposites. Not unlike Bellamy and Clarke, and well, that hadn’t exactly worked out in his favor. 

Bellamy shakes that thought out of his head, changing his focus back to the task at hand. 

“You know I don’t believe in coincidences,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “As much as I’d love to make an example of him, I don’t want to incite a war with Queen Nia right as we’re getting so close to bringing them into the fold.” 

“There’s another option,” Clarke points out hesitantly, the first time she’s spoken since he joined their conversation. 

“It’s not an option, it’s a suicide mission!” Octavia hisses before Clarke can continue. Lincoln puts a hand over her own where it had slammed down on the table. Bellamy doesn’t miss the way she visibly deflates a little at the gesture, his touch calming the rage that always comes so easily to his sister. 

“He’s vulnerable, and this is the perfect time to —” 

“Enough!” he cuts through the two arguing, and they thankfully both fall silent. “Octavia, killing Roan is a calculated risk, but it makes the most sense right now.” 

Her face scrunches up in mild confusion, shaking her head. 

“She doesn’t want to kill him, she wants to turn him,” Octavia jumps in, voice full of accusation. 

“I’m sorry, what?” he turns on her, incredulous. But Clarke, never one to back down from a challenge, just crosses her arms over her chest. 

“He’s alone, isolated from his people, trying to make a name for himself. Right now, he thinks the only way to do that is by redeeming himself in his mother’s eyes. What if we gave him another option?” 

She had this look on her face — eyes wide, the smallest hint of a smile playing at her features. God, she really did believe that they could convince Roan to betray his own mother. 

“He’d kill anyone we sent to get close before they could even proposition him,” he argues back. 

“Not everyone.” 

“No.” The word is out of his mouth before he even fully processes what she’s saying. She just sighs in response, turning to give Lincoln a pleading look. 

“She’s not entirely wrong. We know he wouldn’t kill her,” he reasons. Clarke spins back around, an  _ I told you so _ written all over her face. 

“No, we assume he wouldn’t kill her.” Logically, Bellamy knows their argument makes sense. Though it is an assumption, it’s a strong one. Roan has a soft spot for Clarke. Thinking of Murphy and Clarke’s own friendship, it occurs to Bellamy that she has a talent in acquiring the loyalty of otherwise dangerous people. 

When Octavia pulled her disappearing act a few years back, Bellamy had wanted to go after her himself. He couldn’t realistically leave Polis, especially since Octavia had gone willingly. Clarke had volunteered to go in his stead. They’d fought about it, like they do most decisions that would end with her in danger, but she’d convinced him to let her go. 

Nia had a bounty on Clarke’s head for capture, and she’d been taken the second she stepped out of Trikru territory. It had never been much of a secret how Bellamy cherished their friendship, which made her a convenient weapon to use against him. 

When Bellamy had received word that she’d been taken, he’d been about ready to go to war. Clarke in the hands of Azgeda would be a death sentence, a slow and torturous one. But for an inexplicable reason Bellamy still hasn’t figured out, Prince Roan helped her escape. 

He was exiled soon after, presumably because Queen Nia found out about her son’s involvement in Clarke’s safe return. 

It wasn’t something Clarke ever talked about in any great detail. She only said that they had come to an understanding of sorts, and he had shown mercy. Bellamy had never really questioned it, too grateful that she was safe to care much about how. But the surety that Clarke — the ever-logical Clarke — feels of Roan’s allegiance despite her being the reason he’s exiled in the first place is once again making his curiosity spike. 

“I can handle Roan,” Clarke says, eyes full of determination. He can tell her mind is made up about this, which means he’s in for a long argument. 

“You want me to send an untrained advisor on an undercover mission at the edge of Trikru territory to try and turn the heir to the Azgedan throne against his own mother.” His voice is harsher than he means for it to be, but he can’t help it. 

“I’m training with Octavia and Murphy,” she says defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

He can feel the anger bubbling back up inside of him, anger he’s been actively trying to shove down in the months Clarke’s been back in his life. He’s already lost her once, and it nearly killed him. The potential to lose her again simply wasn’t an option. 

There’s a long pause before she closes the distance between them, hesitantly reaching out a hand to rest on his forearm. “Do you trust me?” she asks, her face more open than he’s seen her since her return. 

Does he trust her? His instincts tell him to say yes, but there’s that nagging voice in his mind reminding him that it wasn’t very long ago that she took off in the middle of the night with nothing but a half-hearted goodbye note left behind. 

He searches her eyes, looking for any hint at why she’s pushing this so hard. 

“I don’t trust  _ him _ ,” he finally says, unwilling to give her a straight answer. He doesn’t miss the way her face falls at his response. She looks away quickly, her typical mask is back in place before he can blink. 

“You may not trust him, but I trust his motivations. He wants to secure his safety. I can get to him and convince him it’s more advantageous for him to align himself with the coalition than with his mother. She abandoned him.” 

“Lots of that going around lately,” Octavia mutters under her breath. If Clarke is affected by the comment, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she just levels his sister with a stern look. To Clarke’s credit, Octavia puts her hands up in mock surrender and sits down. 

“I’ll think about it,” Bellamy says at last, a finality to his tone to tell the others that he’s done discussing it, at least for the time being. If the look on Clarke’s face is any indication, the conversation is far from over. But she thankfully doesn’t push him on it for the time being. 

Octavia dismisses herself with a chaste kiss to Lincoln’s cheek. She’s definitely still irritated at Clarke, but she gives the blonde’s shoulder a squeeze on her way out anyway. The gesture is sisterly, and the sight of it pulls at something deep in Bellamy’s heart — a desire to protect what is left of his family at all cost. 

He pushes his emotions to the side, summoning the strength he knows he’ll need to make it through the rest of the day. “Miller,” he calls out, taking his seat at the head of the table. “Inform the ambassadors that we’re ready to talk. Time to get today’s round of negotiations over with.” 

The rest of the day passes by at a glacial pace. The clans have never been predisposed to collaborating with one another, and coming together to form what will hopefully become a successful coalition is no exception. There is more arguing than real discussion, and Bellamy’s already short temper is at the end of its rope by dinnertime. 

They’re sitting in the main dining hall, Octavia having corralled everyone to eat a “family” dinner since Lincoln is back for the time being. He knew Octavia still wasn’t keen on having Gina around, but she had even politely invited her to join them. 

Of course, Octavia has never been one to leave well enough alone and chooses this moment to restart their discussion from earlier today. 

“I have a solution,” she announces out of the blue. Everyone’s eyes turn to her expectantly, except for Lincoln who gives an exasperated sigh. By the looks of it, he’d already heard this solution. 

“Capture Roan and his little merry band of spies. Then offer Nia an exchange — she gets her people back, we get her to sign to be part of the coalition.” She says it matter of factly, as if she’s suggesting a new route to take riding and not staging the capture of one of the most prolific Azgedan warriors alive. 

“Yes, because I’m sure the mother who threw him out of the kingdom in the first place will sacrifice her independence and leverage just to get him back,” Clarke counters coolly. 

“Better than trying to convince him to kill his own mother,” she shoots back, not missing a beat. 

“Did you have to bring up this now,  _ ai niron _ ?” Lincoln tilts his head back as if praying to the commanders. 

“We’re not asking him to kill his mother,  _ ai haiheda _ ,” Clarke curses, rolling her eyes. 

“Quiet!” Bellamy shouts, his hands coming down on either side of his plate. The sound is enough to make Gina jump a little, though the other three at the table simply turn to look at him. 

“Clarke, I’m not sending you on a suicide mission. I haven’t decided what the best course of action is, but —” 

“Because me going is the best course of action!” she interrupts. He shoots her a warning look, but she just meets his stare with a fierce look of her own. Frustration and a little bit of awe war within him as he looks at her, so determined to get him to see her way. 

“No, you going is the best way for you to get yourself killed,” he argues. 

“He won’t hurt me,” she says slowly, sighing. There’s conviction in her voice, a level of faith in Roan that makes Bellamy wonder when she stopped having that kind of faith in him. 

“You know as well as I do that the flame would advise me to kill him,” he says. She stands at that, pushing back from the table. 

“You’re not killing Roan.” The way she says it hits a chord in Bellamy, and he pushes back from the table to match her position. 

“Watch who you’re giving orders to, Clarke.” 

They stand there, unmoving, for what could have been a few seconds or an hour. The room is silent, everyone’s eyes on the two opposing forces on either side of the table to see who makes the next move. 

Bellamy meets Clarke’s eyes, silently begging for her to just drop this. Her eyebrows are furrowed together, nostrils flared.

“You won’t kill Roan, Bellamy,” she repeats, her voice softer but still commanding in its own way. “I won’t let you.” 

The ferocity with which she’s fighting against Roan’s potential assassination hits Bellamy square in the gut. What exactly did he mean to her that she’s fighting this hard to keep him alive, despite the threat he poses to the rest of the clans? Did they meet again while she was in TonDC last year? 

Jealousy flares in Bellamy’s veins at the thought of Roan and Clarke together while she was gone, an irrational emotion Bellamy immediately tries to tamp down.

“And what exactly are you going to do to stop me?” he challenges, eyebrows raised. 

“He saved my life, dammit!” she nearly screams. Clarke rarely raises her voice, which makes this outburst all the more startling. 

“Clarke,” Lincoln warns quietly. Her eyes flicker around the table, as if realizing they aren’t alone for the first time since they started fighting. With a deep sigh, she runs a hand through her blonde waves. 

“He saved my life, and his was ruined because of it,” she says, her voice now an eerily quiet contrast to just moments before. “I won’t have his blood on my hands, too.” 

She pushes her chair in to leave. As she makes her way toward the door, Bellamy calls out after her. “Go, then. Do what you do best and leave.” 

Her shoulders straighten, and he knows he’s wounded her with his words. But she turns around to meet his eyes from across the room. With her mouth pressed together in a firm line, she gives an almost imperceivable nod before she closes the door behind her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m one of the writers who has volunteered to join a new movement within the Bellarke fandom to help support the Black Lives Matter movement in a meaningful way through our passions — Bellarke and fic writing. For every fanfiction prompt I receive, I ask that you donate money to an organization that supports the BLM cause. When I post the fanfiction, I will post a confirmation that I matched your donation at another organization. 
> 
> You can send in a one-shot prompt (AU, canon, anything) or even request an update chapter for any of my current WIPs. The point is for this fandom to come together to support a wonderful cause. Please check out my Tumblr page on the [BellarkeFic for BLM initiative](https://changingthefairy-tale.tumblr.com/bellarkefic-for-blm) for more information and to submit a prompt/update request! :D
> 
> In the words of our fav... be kind, be well!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One of these days, you’re going to find yourself at the end of the wrong sword.” 
> 
> “Not today, though,” she smirks.

Clarke doesn’t regret her decision to go after Roan, even though she knows her friendship with Bellamy will likely suffer as a result. She knows deep down it is the right call, something that would have crushed her had she stood by to let Bellamy murder the only reason she is still live. 

But as the cool edge of a sword presses into her throat, she starts to wonder if maybe she  _ should _ regret the decision. 

“What part of ‘I never want to see your face again’ wasn’t clear?” Prince Roan’s face is obscured beneath the hood of his cloak, but Clarke would recognize his voice and stature anywhere. 

“But you said it was such a pretty face,” she cocks an eyebrow, refusing to show any hint of fear. After a moment of his silent appraisal of the woman in front of him, Roan shakes his head with a sigh. 

“One of these days, you’re going to find yourself at the end of the wrong sword.” 

“Not today, though,” she smirks as he resheaths his weapon on his back. Thankfully, the area surrounding the trading post is mostly empty, only one or two passing travelers milling about. Still, Clarke gestures for him to follow her into the surrounding forest for privacy. 

Once away from the prying eyes that may linger near the structure, Roan stops her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Enough. Why are you here? And don’t tell me that this is a happy coincidence.” 

Clarke studies the man in front of her. His exile has taken a toll on him. When she first met him, he had seemed indomitable. And while he looks far from weak, he is missing some of his spirit from their initial meeting. Exile has worn down his soul, a thought that makes rage bubble in Clarke’s chest over a mother who would dare disown her own child for doing something as noble as saving a life. 

“The Commander knows you’re spying for your mother,” Clarke comes right out with it. If Roan is shocked by this, he doesn’t show it on his face. Granted, he’s always had a pretty good poker face. 

“And you’re here to...kill me? I’ll admit that’s rather poetic for Bellamy.” There’s laughter in his eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Clarke fights the urge to roll her eyes. 

“No, I’m not here to kill you.” 

“Then why are you—” The dots connect and his eyes widen. “No.” 

At that, he starts trekking further into the forest. Clarke tries her best to keep up, trailing along behind him. 

“Roan, it’s your best chance at survival,” she reasons with him. He continues to forge ahead, to where Clarke isn’t entirely sure. Bellamy’s voice in her head tells her not to go after him, that he could be leading her into a trap. But she follows anyway, unwilling to let this go. 

“You think me betraying my queen — who happens to be my mother — is my best chance at survival?” he gives her a pointed look over his shoulder, still not slowing down as he winds his way through the trees. “Your boyfriend hates me, Clarke. How is that a safer bet?” 

She chooses to ignore his calling Bellamy her boyfriend. “You’re being dramatic.” 

“You’re being delusional,” he mutters under his breath. Clarke thinks he probably didn’t mean for her to hear that. 

  
“Roan—” before she can continue, he turns on her. He’s in her space, crowding her to a near tree with his forearm pressed to her sternum to keep her immobile. He’s not much taller than her, but his presence is intimidating nonetheless. Clarke rolls back her shoulders and clenches her jaw in an effort not to cower under his intense stare. 

“I could twist your neck before you even had the chance to blink,” he almost growls. She narrows her eyes back at him in response, refusing to back down. Roan wouldn’t kill her. She doesn’t know why, but she believes it in her bones all the same. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.” 

Clarke momentarily debates how exactly she wants to approach this. She doesn’t think Roan will hurt her, but what if she can’t convince him to turn? 

“The Commander won’t let you live if he knows you’re spying for your mother in TriKru territory. You have to know that,” she says with a sigh after a moment. 

“Not exactly making a compelling argument here, Clarke.” 

“You saved my life once,” she says quietly, almost a whisper. His eyes flick back and forth between hers, searching for something… and seeing something Clarke can’t quite understand. “Let me do the same for you.” 

The silence stretches between them. Clarke wonders briefly if maybe she’s calculated this all wrong, and he really would kill her. But then he takes a step back, sighing with the shake of his head. 

“So you’re telling me I don’t really have a choice.” 

“That’s an oxymoron,” she points out, not moving away from where she’s leaned against the tree. 

“And yet here we are.” 

*** 

Clarke isn’t exactly sure what she’s expecting when she arrives back in Polis, Roan in tow. Yes, Bellamy had let her leave to try and turn Roan. But she knows he wasn’t thrilled with the idea. And for the second time, Clarke had left the tower without a goodbye to him. 

The hug Bellamy envelopes her in when she walks into the throne room is decidedly not it. 

The second she walks through the door, Bellamy strides across the room and wraps her in their first hug from him since she returned. It takes her by surprise for only a moment before she’s curling into him, her arms coming around his shoulders and her face tucking into his neck. 

God, she almost forgot what it was like to be held by Bellamy — safe and warm, like coming home. 

He pulls back, a sheepish look on his face. Clarke feels her cheeks flush, and she takes a step back too. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says sincerely. Clarke had only been gone a little over two weeks, and she’d never believed she was in any real danger. But she wonders just how convinced Bellamy was that Roan would have hurt her. 

“I know you just wanted me to be safe. But I told you — he wouldn’t have hurt me, Bellamy.” 

He nods but otherwise doesn’t respond. Instead, he looks behind her to the man standing in the doorway. 

“Touching reunion, really. Is someone going to remove these at any point?” Clarke had put Roan in ties for appearances when she’d brought him into Polis, and he’s still wearing them, hands bound together in ties at his waist. 

Clarke turns and gives him a warning glare to play nice, but Roan is too busy giving his own glare to Bellamy. 

“I think we’ll keep them on,” Bellamy practically spits at him.  _ God, men are tiresome _ , Clarke thinks to herself bitterly. 

“Enough from both of you,” she chastises. At least both men have the decency to look a bit embarrassed as Clarke removes the rope from Roan’s wrists. “I’m going to take Prince Roan to the meeting chambers. Call for Lincoln and let’s get this over with, shall we?” With a pointed look at Bellamy, she all but pushes Roan out of the room. 

“Sounds like a promising start,” Roan jokes as they walk down the hall to the stairwell. 

“It’s like you’re trying to get yourself killed.” He just chuckles. Clarke knows it’s mostly all bravado, but she doesn’t call him out on it. 

Roan is surprisingly compliant during the meeting. Lincoln probes him for questions, and Bellamy occasionally jumps in with a follow up. It’s obvious that the two men are barely being civil with each other, both letting a snarky comment into their interactions now and again. 

Clarke does step on Bellamy’s foot under the table at one point during the whole affair, but he gives her a briefly apologetic look and backs off. 

By the end of it, they’ve got some workable intel about Queen Nia’s potential movements that Lincoln will be checking out over the coming week. Bellamy requests that Roan stay in Polis until the intel is checked out. 

“You want to make sure I’m not sending your people into a trap?” Roan guesses, more relaxed than Clarke would have been in his shoes. 

Bellamy doesn’t even bother denying it. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t in my position?” 

The two men enter into yet another standoff, neither saying anything as they glare at each other across the table. Clarke can’t stop from rolling her eyes this time. 

“I’m sure both of your people would be glad to see how mature their leaders are in the face of adversity,” she quips, standing to leave. If they want to stare at each other all afternoon, they can do that while Clarke takes care of other things. 

But when she gets up to leave, both Bellamy and Roan stand to do the same. 

“I’ll show Prince Roan to his rooms,” she offers. Bellamy doesn’t seem thrilled with the prospect, if the pinched expression he’s wearing is anything to go off of. But he doesn’t argue, so Clarke just nods and escorts Roan out. 

“Seems like he’s thrilled to have me.” 

“You’re not making this easy on yourself,” she reasons. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he was the one betraying his people and the only family he has left,” Roan bites out in response. To be honest, Clarke’s never really considered the extent of what she was asking Roan to do. Sure, he would be betraying his mother, but she had cast him out. How close can they really be? 

But on the other hand, she can’t imagine a world in which Bellamy would do the same thing to Octavia no matter what O had done. 

“I think that’s why he’s probably so hung up on you helping us,” Clarke admits as they make their way to his rooms. “He’s loyal to a fault, and anyone who’s willing to turn on their people — regardless of the fact that he’s not exactly giving you an option — isn’t going to be high on his list of favorite people.” 

“You really think that’s why he doesn’t like me?” he asks incredulously. When Clarke’s face scrunches up in confusion, Roan lets out a roaring laugh. 

“What?” 

“The Commander doesn’t give a shit about my allegiance to my mother or Azgeda. He cares about you.” 

“What does that have to do with —” but before she can finish, Roan cuts her off. 

“He’s jealous, Clarke. You went off, against his wishes if I had to bet, to save another man’s life. That’s what this pissing match is about.” He gives her a sideways glance, and Clarke stops in the middle of the hallway to turn and look at him fully. Her heart picks up at the implication that Bellamy may still have feelings for her, but she tamps it down. He doesn’t; he can’t. 

“He’s marrying someone else, Roan.” 

“Don’t start lying to me now. You know as well as I do that he’d have chosen you had you not disappeared in the middle of the night to TonDC,” he shoots back. 

She doesn’t want to have this conversation in the hallway. Clarke all but drags him the rest of the way to what will be his room for the duration of his stay. As soon as the door closes, she turns on him. 

“How do you even know that?”

“You think news of the commander’s true chosen showing up in TonDC didn’t make the rounds throughout the clans?” he looks at her incredulously. 

“Dammit, Roan. This isn’t just about who’s got feelings for who,” Clarke snaps at him. She was so tired of everyone in her life bringing up her feelings for Bellamy. To be honest, she hadn’t realized she was so transparent. She’d have to work on that if she was staying. 

“The fate of the coalition is at stake here. Hundreds of lives,” she reminds him. 

“You don’t think I know that?” 

“I think if you gave a damn, you’d stop antagonizing Bellamy at every turn and stop harassing me about whatever you think it is that I feel for Bellamy beyond loyalty for my heda. The commander is arranged to marry Gina kom Ingranronakru, and that’s the end of it.” 

Her voice must hold a tone of finality, or maybe desperation. But either way, Roan’s eyes soften under her glare. He takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. 

Clarke takes a deep breath. “Good, glad we have that settled. Lincoln will check your intel and report back. In the meantime, you’re our guest. Just don’t let the locals spot you,” she quirks a brow at him. 

As she passes, he catches her by the arm. 

“He doesn’t deserve you anyway.” 

“You got that backward,” she says, giving him a sad smile before leaving. 

*** 

The week passes without incident. Bellamy sticks to himself more than usual, hiding out in the library. Clarke yearns to go talk to him, to comfort him. But she doesn’t. He’s not hers to comfort anymore. 

Roan surprisingly also stays under the radar for the week. He joins in on her training with Octavia and Murphy in the mornings — much to Octavia’s dismay, and she definitely improves with him critiquing her every move. He’s even less patient than Octavia, and Clarke didn’t know that was possible. 

With Bellamy eating almost every meal in the library, Clarke starts taking her own meals to Roan’s room to eat with him. There’s an easiness in being with Roan, kind of like her friendship with Murphy. He tells her what he thinks, and he doesn’t sugar coat it. They can banter back and forth, or they can sit in silence. 

It’s nice, and Clarke actually catches herself wishing he didn’t have to leave when Lincoln gets back. Maybe he could stay here in Polis. He’d be a great advisor for Bellamy, especially where Nia is concerned. 

Of course, Lincoln does come back. And it turns out the intel Roan gave on Nia’s movements was accurate. 

“What are the next steps here, heda? Send him back out under his original guise, but have him report back to me instead of just his Azgedan contact?” Lincoln poses the question as he leans against the meeting table. 

“Too easy. They’ll catch on quick that I’m playing both sides, and then I’m dead,” Roan points out. 

Clarke agrees with Roan on that one. What’s the play here? Giving him false info would get him killed just as easily. He’s not in a position to negotiate with Nia on their behalf. Unfortunately, Clarke hadn’t thought much past her turning him to their side. Now that they need a plan, she’s a little lost. 

“Roan needs to become King,” Bellamy’s voice interrupts her thoughts. 

“You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting,” she says. 

“Less than a week ago you thought I was going to stab you in the back, and now you want me to be king?” Roan asks, dubious. Clarke’s got to admit he has a point. 

“I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, but that’s still better than Nia running things.” 

“You realize you’re asking me to kill my own mother.” Roan says it as a statement rather than a question, and his eyes are narrowed in on Bellamy. 

“I’m asking you to secure Azgeda’s spot in the coalition and prevent a war we both know is coming as long as Nia sits on that throne.” 

“How, exactly, do you plan on getting him close enough to kill his mother? He’s exiled,” Clarke reminds everyone. 

She thinks it’s a ridiculous plan. Would Roan make a better king than Nia does queen? Absolutely. But asking him to kill his mother is cruel, and expecting him to be able to get close enough to pull it off is foolish. 

“Clarke has a point,” Lincoln agrees. “We’d have to get you reinstated as Azgeda before you could get close enough. And that’s if you’re willing to do it.” 

Roan actually seems like he’s considering it. One hand is stroking his beard, his eyes glassed over in a way that suggests he’s playing out the potential scenarios in his head. 

Clarke gets up to walk around the table, coming to stand next to Roan. 

“Hey, we can find another way. This is  _ not _ your only option.” She makes him look at her fully as she says it. After a moment, Bellamy clears his throat, pulling Clarke’s attention back across the table. 

“It’s the best option we have, though.” 

The room falls silent once again, all eyes on Roan. After a beat, he releases a breath. 

“I can’t kill my mother.” Clarke visibly relaxes at that, but then he continues while looking right at her. “But I can help you do it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! :D I'm already partially through the next chapter, so you shouldn't have to wait the normal amount of time for an update this go round since I know this as a cliffhanger of sorts. As always, comments and kudos and feedback is super appreciated. 
> 
> ___
> 
> And reminder that I’m one of the writers who has volunteered to join a new movement within the Bellarke fandom to help support the Black Lives Matter movement in a meaningful way through our passions — Bellarke and fic writing. For every fanfiction prompt I receive, I ask that you donate money to an organization that supports the BLM cause. When I post the fanfiction, I will post a confirmation that I matched your donation at another organization.
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> In the words of our fav... be kind, be well!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Me?” she asks, dumbfounded. 
> 
> “Absolutely not,” Bellamy interjects before Roan can respond or clarify. 
> 
> “What happened to killing my mother being the best option we have?” Roan shoots back across the table without missing a beat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been too long since I've updated? Always. I wish I could honestly tell you I'll be better about it, but at this point I don't think either of us would even believe me. lol 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter! We're starting to get to the end of this fic, and I cannot wait for you all to read how it all wraps up.

“Me?” she asks, dumbfounded. 

“Absolutely not,” Bellamy interjects before Roan can respond or clarify. 

“What happened to killing my mother being the best option we have?” Roan shoots back across the table without missing a beat. In another situation, Clarke would have chuckled. It’s hard to corner Bellamy in an argument, but Roan had him there. 

“Clarke’s not an assassin or a spy, and I’m not risking her life for her to try her hand at either,” he says, voice commanding. It was the tone he uses whenever his decision is final, but Roan isn’t fazed by it. 

“My mother would jump at the chance to have Clarke as her prisoner, and you know it,” the look on Roan’s face is challenging, as if he’s begging Bellamy to contradict him, tell him he’s wrong. “I can ‘capture her,’ effectively smuggling her into Ice Nation to get the job done.” 

Clarke still doesn’t understand why Nia would want her over anyone else in Bellamy’s inner circle — Octavia’s the best choice for her to get leverage, and O leaves Polis alone more often than Clarke ever does. But given the long-standing bounty on Clarke’s capture, Roan’s plan wasn’t horrible. Certainly better than him trying to get close enough to get the job done while still exiled. 

“I said no.” 

“She’s not a child, Bellamy. Clarke has the right to make her own decisions.” That makes Bellamy pause, just as Clarke suspected Roan knew it would. His eyes flicker over to where she still stands next to Roan, question in his eyes. 

She’s been quiet up until now, wanting Roan and Bellamy to get their posturing out of their systems before she gives her opinion. 

“Give us a minute?” she asks Lincoln and Roan softly, gesturing toward the door. They both leave without question, Roan squeezing her shoulder in solidarity as he brushes past. Then it’s just the two of them. 

“It’s not a bad plan,” she admits. The slight look of disappointment that crosses his face doesn’t escape her before his features settle back into hard lines and immoveable resolve. 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Bellamy,” she starts, moving around the table to where he’s sitting. She drops into the chair next to his, facing him. “We could end this. Finalize the coalition, bring all of the clans together… have a shot at real, lasting peace. This is the opening we’ve been hoping for.” 

He turns to look at her then, eyes boring into hers. 

“She’ll kill you, Clarke.” Worry is etched into his irises, and Clarke sighs. He’s always led with his heart, but this wasn’t a decision he should make based on their friendship or their history. 

“She won’t. But that’s a risk we’ve got to take.” 

“It’s not one I’m willing to,” he admits quietly, his face showing vulnerability she isn’t sure she wants to see. “I can’t lose you, Clarke.” 

This isn’t their usual version of arguing — sitting closely and almost whispering across the short space between them. They were usually all fire and ice, yelling at each other from opposite sides of the room until one of them relents or leaves to cool off until later. This was...intimate, emotional. And she wasn’t sure she could handle that, not from Bellamy. 

“You won’t lose me, Bell.” 

“You don’t know that,” he says strained, pushing back from the table. Clarke watches as he starts pacing, and she knows the gears in his head are turning with all of the worst-case scenarios. 

“Either she’ll toruture you as leverage to get me to concede to her demands for Azgeda to join the fold, or she’ll use you as bait to kill me so she can take the throne as heda. Either way, you’ll end up dead, and she’ll end up as the commander.” 

“Nia isn’t a natblida. The clans would never accept her as heda, and you know it. Plus, the Flame would kill her,” Clarke reasons with him. 

“We don’t have any new novitiates, Clarke. Nitblida is dying out. If I die, she could convince the clans that she should be heda until a new novitiate class can be initiated and the Flame can choose its successor. She could call a conclave of warriors instead of a conclave of novitiates.” 

“You aren’t dying, Bellamy! She is!” Clarke exclaims, exasperated. 

“This isn’t a discussion, Clarke!” he explodes suddenly, voice booming. The vulnerability she saw moments ago was gone, replaced by anger and stubbornness. She just sighs, standing from her own chair. This is more like the argumentative Bellamy she knows.

“Why is it that you are all about sacrificing yourself at every turn, but you never seem to think I’m capable of doing the same? Bellamy, this is a good plan. And Roan will be there to protect me —” 

“Oh, Roan will be there to protect you. Yes, I should just put the life of my...my most trusted advisor and oldest childhood friend in the hands of a known traitor and spy,” he mocks. She shakes her head at him. He’s impossible when he gets like this, surly and obstinate, but she’s never been good at resisting the challenge in his eyes. 

“I trust him! Does that not count for anything?” He stops pacing at that, turning to look at her. 

“Of course you trust him,” he scoffs, eyes narrowed. That’s when Clarke realizes...he’s angry with her. This isn’t him arguing with her because he disagrees, this is him being difficult because he’s mad. He’s upset that she trusts Roan, that she has faith in him. 

“Please tell me you’re not making a political decision based on jealousy, Bellamy,” she grits out, heat from her own anger flooding her cheeks. He doesn’t back down, still almost glaring at her. But the tick in his jaw tells her everything she needs to know. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s what this is about, that’s what all of this is about! You think I have feelings for Roan, and so you’ve decided he can’t be trusted.  _ Joken hei.”  _

“If you’re going to make decisions based on your emotions, then yeah. I’m going to question them.” 

“My emotions? You are the one deciding the fate of the clans based on some fictional relationship.” She’s shouting at this point, nearly shaking. 

“Why else would he be helping us, if not because of some connection he feels to you?” 

“Because he recognizes that it’s the smart play! We take care of his mother, he gets to be king. Not everyone falls in love with every woman they meet, Bellamy.” She doesn’t mean for that last bit to slip out. But the words are hanging in the air between them now, and she can’t take them back. 

A quiet settles between them, heavy with the weight of the words they should have said and ones they can’t take back now. She can see it in his eyes that he knows as well as she does that they’re no longer fighting about Roan. Not really. 

“You’re going to marry someone else, Bellamy. For the coalition and for the good of the clans,” Clarke says, her voice calmer now. This is the part she’s resigned herself to, the truth that’s remained a part of her regardless of what she’s felt for him over the years. “And I’m going to walk into Azgeda territory beside Roan and kill Nia for the same cause.” 

“You’re not doing this for the coalition. Don’t pretend like you are.” There’s pain in his eyes, and Clarke has to steel herself against it. She can’t break, not on this. 

“Everything I’ve done has been for the coalition, for our people,  _ for you. _ ” 

“ _ You left me. _ ” And there it is. 

She sighs, closing her eyes. One moment of weakness over a year ago would be the unraveling of generations of hedas trying to unify the clans. Bellamy would have been the one to do it, to bring together the clans with the promise of true peace and a fresh start. Humanity’s second chance to truly build a better world. If not for that one weakness. 

Bellamy looks defeated, and she knows he won’t stop her from going at this point. He may never forgive her for it, but he won’t stop her. Their fight is over, in more ways than one. 

She walks to him, closing the distance between them, and puts a hand on his cheek. His eyes meet hers as he leans into the caress, and she wishes more than anything that things would be different. In another universe, perhaps. In a world where the conclave doesn’t exist and the fate of humanity rests on someone else’s shoulders. 

But in this one, there’s only one outcome, one truth that Clarke’s known her entire life. 

“You were never mine to leave,” she reminds him, unable to keep the sadness from seeping into her voice. She leaves the room, waiting until the door is shut behind her before taking another breath. 

When would it get easier walking away from him? 

Probably never, if she’s being honest with herself. The only thing she can do is keep going forward. 

The coalition, the clans, Bellamy. She can bear the fallout of a broken friendship with the man she loves. But she can’t let her own happiness and selfish desires sabotage an end to all the fighting and senseless wars.

Clarke walks back to her room in silence, willing the pit in her stomach to go away. God, sometimes she wishes she had never come back. 

Of course Roan is waiting for her when she opens her door. He’s got the window open and is bent over with his forearms resting on the sill. 

“I’m not particularly in the mood, Roan,” she says, not wasting any time with niceties. 

He doesn’t even turn away from the window to respond. “I would say I’m surprised that the talk didn’t go well, but you two weren’t exactly quiet for most of it. Murphy tells me that’s par for the course, though.” 

A tired chuckle escapes her at that. She walks over next to her window and sinks down to the floor with her back to the wall. 

“You were right, though.” 

“Words I never thought I’d hear come out of Clarke kom Trikru’s mouth,” Roan half-jokes. He turns to give her a look to continue, still leaning mostly on the window. 

“Part of it is that he doesn’t want to put me in danger. But he also thinks we’re sleeping together.” He actually laughs at that, a deep rumble filling Clarke’s room, and Clarke can’t help but join in. In any other context, she’d probably be offended. But it was all such a mess and too comical. 

“I don’t think I’m your type,” he comments after he’s calmed down, still chuckling slightly. 

“Oh, and what is my type?” she teases. But as soon as the words are out of her mouth, she regrets them. Thankfully, Roan just levels her with an unimpressed look. 

“He’s not entirely wrong about the first part, though. You’d be taking a large risk.” 

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about assassinating your mother,” Clarke tries to sound light, but it doesn’t quite land. Roan is studying her, sharp eyes searching. 

After a moment of silence, she asks the question she’d been too scared to ask since she brought him back to Polis. “Why didn’t you kill me?” 

If he’s surprised by the question, he hides it well. He runs a hand through his hair, a move that reminds her of Bellamy when he’s nervous about something. 

“Of course you would question why someone let you live,” he mutters in lieu of a real response. After a belated silence, he sits down on the floor with her so that they are shoulder to shoulder. 

“I’m serious. Yes, Bellamy is being an ass about this. But he’s not wrong to ask the question — why are you helping us? You don’t owe any sort of loyalty to Bellamy, and you certainly don’t to me.” 

“I don’t know. Just didn’t seem like the smart play.” It’s the reason she’d given Bellamy less than 20 minutes, but it doesn’t sound convincing coming out of his mouth. 

Clarke remembers the day they met like it was yesterday. The way his piercing eyes had looked at her — surprise, recognition, and underlying grief playing across his features. The way he’d almost spit out the words when he cut her bindings to let her go. _ Ban au.  _

“There’s more to it than that, though. The first time we met...the way you looked at me was like you were seeing a ghost.” 

“Because I was,” he sighs. After a moment, she nudges his shoulder, prompting him to keep going. 

“You remind me of someone,” he admits, his typically gruff voice a touch softer. “You look almost just like her, but it’s the fire in your eyes that hit me like a punch to the gut when I first really looked at you.” 

He shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he stares straight ahead as if lost in a memory. “She was… she was my _ feva.  _ Or, she would have been if my mother hadn’t killed her. I couldn’t watch as my mother extinguished the fire in her eyes twice,” he shrugs a little before finally turning his head to look at her. 

“So helping us now is about revenge on your mother?” Clarke asks, genuinely curious. To be honest, she doesn’t care if it’s revenge or strategy or some other unknown reason. So long as he was willing to help, she’d take it. 

“That may have been part of why I let you go way back when. But that’s not why I’m willing to help you now.” 

“So why then?” 

“You are to Bellamy what Ash was to me,” he says, matter of fact. She considers contesting that, but she was tired of pretending that her and Bellamy didn’t mean anything to each other. She had to do it all day, every day outside of this room. She didn’t have the energy to pretend to Roan; he could see straight through her regardless. 

“He needs you. Bellamy is not a good heda alone. You balance him in a way no one else can.” 

“The Flame chose him, so he must have something that makes him a good heda,” she points out. But he just shoots her a wry smile. 

“Don’t tell me you actually believe what they say about the Flame choosing its next soul. It’s a nice story that keeps the clans from killing each other on a massive scale for more power. And the Flame itself is an advanced piece of old-world technology that has survived the generations since. But it doesn’t pick its successor. A barbaric fight to the death forced upon teenagers is what chooses our leaders.” 

She’s shocked at his answer, and the bitterness that slips in the farther into it he gets. Clarke had never put too much stock into the Flame. It was part of Bellamy. 

“His emotions drive him, and he wavers between being too harsh and being too gentle,” Roan explains. “But with the clans, you have to make detached decisions. You have to think about what’s best for the collective and be willing to sacrifice your own feelings for that vision. He’s a good man, but he wouldn’t be a good heda without you by his side.” 

Clarke isn’t sure she believes him, but it’s a nice sentiment all the same. 

“You’ll be a good king one day, Roan,” she says quietly, laying her head on his shoulder, content in the silence that envelops them. 

They stay like that for a long time before she finally shifts to get up. Her leg is falling asleep, and she can feel the hunger growing in her stomach. 

He goes back to his rooms, and she heads down to the kitchens. There is stew still warm from when dinner was served, and she eats while making small talk with a few of the guards who are eating at the same time. 

But eventually she’s left alone to her own thoughts, dishes having been put away and the guards going back to duty. 

She knows she has no choice but to go with Roan when he leaves. Nia would never allow the coalition to succeed, and that means she needs to be eliminated. Roan will take over as king, and join the coalition. Having Azgeda on board will put to rest any dissenters among the other clans. They can finally have true peace. 

A knock in the doorway makes her jump, and Bellamy lets out a low chuckle. But it only lasts for a few seconds before it slips away, the weight of their earlier conversation settling over the space between them. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came to get an apple,” he gestures to the basket filled with assorted fruits on the countertop. 

“I was just leaving,” she says quickly getting up to move past him. But then he steps to the side just as she does, then they both step in the opposite direction. They both just look at each other, the ridiculousness of the situation not lost on Clarke. 

They both just stand there, less than a foot of space between them, for what could be seconds or minutes — Clarke can’t tell. 

“I guess you should get back to pack your things. It’s a long trek to Azgeda.” There’s a hint of accusation in his voice, though she can tell he’s trying to be civil. 

Clarke just sighs. 

“I’m not doing this to hurt you, Bellamy. This is what needs to be done, for the clans.” She knows he understands, that he would agree with her if he just looked at this logically. 

For a minute, she doesn’t think he’s going to respond. He just stands there, his brows drawn together and his eyes fixed on her forehead as if he was determined not to look her in the eyes. 

But then he does meet her gaze, his eyes filled with an emotion she can’t name but that she understands in her soul. “I can’t lose you. Not again.” 

She swallows hard. He’s asking her not to leave, and she wants more than anything to take that last step forward and fall into him. 

_ He needs you. _ Roan’s words from earlier echo back in her mind. 

It would be easy. She could wrap her arms around his waist, and his arms would cradle her head to his chest. She could tell him that she loves him, promise to never leave his side. She could ask him to run away with her, to live a quiet life somewhere where there are no wars and no clans and no responsibilities to anyone but each other. 

But that isn’t in their natures. He was raised to lead. And she was raised to put the good of the clans over everything else. 

“You won’t lose me, Bellamy. But this is our chance to unite the clans, to stop the fighting.  _ Jus drein jus daun no mou,  _ remember?” She reaches out to grab his hand, squeezing it in hers. “I have to do this. You would do the same thing if the roles were reversed.” 

She’s pleading to him with her eyes.  _ Please understand, please understand, please understand.  _

When he finally gives a small nod, just the slightest movement of the head, she exhales a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. 

Clarke lets go of his hand, finally stepping around him to leave. This time he doesn’t move. 

When she gets to the doorway, she stops. She doesn’t want to leave without him knowing. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He turns to look at her, a question written all over his face. 

“I never should have left like that. I thought-” 

“Clarke, you don’t have to…” he cuts her off, but she just shakes her head adamantly. 

“No. Let me get this out.” He quiets, and she takes a deep breath before continuing. “I thought I was doing what was best for you. But really, I was doing what was easiest for me. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t important to me, because it’s the farthest thing from the truth.” 

Tears are starting to form behind her eyes, and she wills them to stay locked away. He’s looking at her with such intensity, his brown eyes looking at her like she might hold the key to a door he hasn’t even found yet. 

“No matter what role I play in your life — friend, advisor…” she trails off, eyes darting to the countertop behind him. Where he whispered worship across her skin and made her his. A small shiver runs through her as she looks back to him. “I’ll always love you.” 

She doesn’t wait for his response before she retreats into the shadows of the hallway, and he doesn’t call after her. They may not get the happy ending they both liked to read about in Bellamy’s favorite old Earth stories as children. 

But they could still be in each other’s lives, and they could grow old knowing that they helped bring peace to the last of humanity. 

Clarke decides that would be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder that I am participating in the Bellarke Fic for BLM initiative. You can donate any amount to any organization that supports the BLM movement or any social justice cause you are passionate about, and I'll match the donation and write a prompt of your choosing. I'm also allowing WIP chapter updates as prompts, so feel free to give me a metaphorical kick in the ass to crank out chapters faster (and to prioritize these chapters since prompts are currently taking precedence in my todo list) by checking out the Bellarke Fic 4 BLM page on my Tumblr!
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Kudos, comments, and (civil) feedback is always appreciated. 🥰


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is waiting for him in the throne room, Clarke and Roan both with packs at their feet. 
> 
> “What’s this about, Bell?” O asks the second she sees him walk in. 
> 
> His eyes connect with Clarke’s, and she can see the apprehension written all over her face. She’s worried he’s not going to let her go. To be fair, he’d considered just not letting her leave last night while he was tossing and turning. But then she would just leave anyway against his wishes. He knows how she looks when she’s made up her mind — jaw set, shoulders rigid, eyes crystal clear. There would be no stopping her, not when she thought there wasn’t another option. 
> 
> That’s why he’s come up with said other option. 

Bellamy can’t sleep. He was trying, but he just keeps tossing and turning. Blue eyes haunt him every time he closes his eyes, and her words from earlier that night just keep repeating in his head. 

_ I have to do this... you’d do the same thing if the roles were reversed...You won’t lose me...I’ll always love you… _

He isn’t delusional. He knows that he will marry Gina, and he knows he doesn’t have a real future with Clarke no matter how badly he yearns for one. But he needs her to stay alive. He needs her to yell at him when he’s about to make a decision she doesn’t agree with, to keep Murphy on his toes and keep Octavia laughing when Lincoln isn’t around. He just needs her around. 

And he can’t risk letting her walk out of those castle doors with Roan knowing there’s a real possibility she’d never come back. 

Bellamy throws the sheets back off his bed, the decision made. He spends the rest of the early morning hours pacing, coming up with a plan. Clarke would hate it, probably, but he’d rather her be pissed at him and alive than the alternative. 

When sunshine starts to peek through the curtains hanging from the balcony opening, he makes his way downstairs. He gets Miller to gather Clarke, Roan, Lincoln, Octavia, and Gina in the throne room as soon as they are up. Then he heads to the stables. 

Raven is already up, readying the horses. He tells her not to worry with it; no one would be leaving today. 

She raises an eyebrow at him. “Does Clarke realize no one is leaving today?” 

“Did I miss the announcement that Clarke became heda overnight?” He matches her tone and expression with his own. She just chuckles at him, shaking her head. 

“What I’d give to witness this impending conversation,” she mumbles, probably more to herself than to him, as she removes the saddle from Apollo’s back. He just gives her a final look before walking back toward the tower. 

Everyone is waiting for him in the throne room, Clarke and Roan both with packs at their feet. 

“What’s this about, Bell?” O asks the second she sees him walk in. 

His eyes connect with Clarke’s, and she can see the apprehension written all over her face. She’s worried he’s not going to let her go. To be fair, he’d considered just not letting her leave last night while he was tossing and turning. But then she would just leave anyway against his wishes. He knows how she looks when she’s made up her mind — jaw set, shoulders rigid, eyes crystal clear. There would be no stopping her, not when she thought there wasn’t another option. 

That’s why he’s come up with said other option. 

“No one is leaving. Not today,” he announces without preamble. 

“ _ Joken helasha _ ,” Roan mutters, shaking his head. Clarke shoots him a warning glance but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

He can see Octavia gearing up to jump into the conversation, and he raises his hands to cut off whatever she’s about to throw at him. “Let me finish. I will not have someone fighting my battles for me. If someone’s going to kill Nia, it’s going to be me.”

Everyone erupts into different arguments at once. Well, everyone except for Gina, who is standing off to the side looking a touch overwhelmed, and Clarke, whose face remains stoic, calculating. 

“ _ Shof op _ !” The others quiet down, looking back to him. “We’re going to arrange a peace summit with Azgeda. And then Roan is going to teach me how to best get close enough to kill Nia. Once she’s dead, Roan will be crowned and Azgeda can join the fold just like the other clans.” 

“Bell, you can’t just march into Azgeda territory and murder their queen. You’d never make it out alive,” Octavia speaks up first, her face in her hands as she leans forward from her perch on the arm of Lincoln’s chair. 

“That was Clarke and Roan’s exact plan,” he retaliates. 

“No, the plan was for me to capture Clarke as a pseudo prisoner. She isn’t the goddamn Commander, so I could sneak her out afterward. You, on the other hand, are dead the moment my mother is,” Roan argues, obviously irritated. 

“I get that you want to protect Clarke, but” Lincoln starts, but Octavia’s hand on his knee stops him before he can finish his thought. Her eyes float toward Gina, still quiet at the periphery of the room. Bellamy starts to wonder if it was a mistake to have her join. She needs to be kept informed, especially since she’ll be staying at the palace without him while he’s gone. But he hadn’t counted on anyone bringing up his...relationship to Clarke. 

Of course, Clarke has been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the conversation. He knows she has thoughts on the matter — she’s wearing that emotionless mask that she’s perfected over the years. But Bellamy knows that it’s just a surefire sign that she’s holding something back.

“Well, we’ll have time to sort through the details. It’ll take time to set up the summit, and it’s a few days trek up to the Azgedan capital. My decision is final.” He meets every single person’s eyes in turn. Lincoln simply nods. Octavia follows suit, though if her pursed lips are any indication, he’d hear about this later. Roan rolls his eyes, and Gina offers him a small, supportive smile. 

And then there’s Clarke. Her arms are folded across her chest, that damned mask still ever-present on her face. But he thinks he sees something else buried in her eyes. 

When everyone else files out of the room, he catches her arm to make her stay. He doesn’t miss the way Gina’s eyes zero in on the contact, and he quickly pulls his hand away guilty. It wasn’t a tender gesture, and he knows logically that he shouldn’t feel guilty for an innocent touch like that. But the feeling washes over him regardless, as if he’s been caught. Maybe he has. 

The room is empty, and silence courses between Bellamy and Clarke. She still isn’t saying anything, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. She’s waiting for an explanation, he realizes. 

“I don’t expect you to be happy about this,” he starts. “But I do expect you to fall in line with the plan.” 

Silence. 

She studies him from where her feet are apparently glued to the floor. Her eyes are narrowed, calculating. Those blue eyes have always been able to look right through him, and he feels scrutinized under her gaze. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she says at last, arms dropping to her sides. 

_ Better me than you _ , he thinks. But he won’t say it aloud. He’s pretty sure she can read that response in his eyes anyway. 

“I’m not going to change your mind on this, am I?” she finally asks, her shoulders slumping just slightly in defeat. 

“No.” 

She sighs. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.” 

“Clarke-” but she cuts him off before he can argue. 

“I know you’re heda, but that wasn’t me asking for permission. I will be inside that palace when Nia dies. Either you can bring me as your advisor, or I can sneak out and turn myself in as her prisoner. Your choice.” 

Now it’s his turn to let out an annoyed breath. Why does she have to be so obstinate about everything? She’s always been so headstrong, so unbreakable in her convictions. Bellamy spent most of his formidable years wanting to be that sure of his decisions, that steady in his beliefs. But damn if it didn’t also challenge his patience. 

“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says, taking a deep breath to stay calm. 

She takes a step toward him, her hand reaching up as if she’s going to touch his cheek. But then it just hovers there mid-air for a few seconds before he watches as it falls limp to her side. 

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she almost whispers, her voice soft. 

begging to pull her close and never let go. Not for the first time, he curses the Flame and everything that comes with it. The voices he hears when he’s trying to make a decision, the unwanted memories and lessons he gets when he falls asleep at night, the duty that weighs on him like chains. 

He’d been raised believing in the power of the Flame, in the idea that the Commander’s soul chooses the next heda. But the older he gets, the longer the Flame is part of him, the more he questions whether that’s true. His novitiate class was filled with bright minds, brilliant leaders. Was he really the best choice to lead the clans? 

There was nothing about him that stood out as particularly inspiring, so why would he be the one chosen for the Flame? All he did was manage to not die longer than the others in his class.

Sometimes he thinks even Octavia would be a better choice to lead, with her ferocity and warrior’s mind. With the right advisors, she could have easily united the clans by now. 

But Bellamy was the sibling born a natblida, born with the responsibility to the clans and to the past Commanders. He won’t let them down, no matter how much a part of him yearns to take Clarke’s hand and make a run for it. 

Every now and again, he swears he sees the same urge reflected in her eyes, buried so deep you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. It’s the look she’s giving him right now, eyes wide and breath held as the invisible string that’s connected their souls since they were little pulls taut against the universe forcing them apart. 

But just like every time, they both break eye contact and the moment is lost. 

*** 

He’s in his room later that day drafting up a message to send to Nia when he hears a knock. Miller opens the door, announcing Gina. 

Bellamy quickly stands, not quite sure what to do with himself. It strikes him suddenly that she’s never actually been in this room before. 

“Gina, is something wrong?” he asks, a little worried. 

She shakes her head, stopping only a few feet into the room. For a moment, they both just stand there awkwardly staring at each other. 

“I should have—” 

“We should—” 

They both speak up at the same time, cutting each other off. “Ladies first,” Bellamy says, gesturing with a small smile. 

“We should talk about what happened earlier this morning.” She looks nervous, almost apprehensive to bring it up. 

“We should,” he agrees with a sigh. “I should have given you a heads up on what you were walking into, I know. But I needed to catch Roan and Clarke before they left, and it seemed wrong to tell the others without telling you, too.” 

He’s rambling, talking faster than necessary. His...relationship with Gina has always been a little stilted, awkward pauses and nervous exchanges. He’s never quite sure how he is supposed to act with her, or how to handle anything regarding her — especially not since Clarke came back. 

And the fact that a woman who was supposed to be an advisor and childhood friend has any weight on how he treats the woman he’s supposed to marry? That’s a problem in and of itself. 

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, yes, that was a lot,” she clarifies quickly. “But it did help clarify some things.” 

She must see the momentary confusion on his face, because her eyes soften before she continues. “You’re in love with her.” 

The question is like a punch to the gut, pushing all the air out of his lungs. He opens his mouth to protest, but no words come out. He can’t even deny it. Instead, he just sighs, walking around his desk to lean against it. He rakes a hand through his curls. 

At his silence, she gives him a sad smile. “I thought so.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says then, unsure of what else he  _ can _ say. She comes over and leans against the desk next to him. 

“Does she know?” she looks over at him. Her voice is light, as if she’s genuinely curious. This had to be the weirdest conversation he’s ever had — talking to his theoretical future fiancé about how he’s in love with someone else. 

“She does,” he says a little hesitantly, not meeting her eyes. 

“So I’m what? A consolation prize since you can’t have the person you really want?” At that, his eyes fly up to meet her gaze. There’s hurt written all over her face. It’s the same look Clarke gives him every time they talk about their… Bellamy didn’t even know what to call it. 

“Of course you aren’t, Gina. I didn’t…  _ Jok _ , I didn’t ask for this to happen.” He lets out a sharp breath, dragging a hand down his face. 

He hates himself for this mess he’s created. There’s no good solution. No matter what he does, he hurts both Gina and Clarke. And he doesn’t get a happy ending regardless. 

Once again, he’s overcome with resentment for the Flame and everything it means for his life. He hates that it puts Clarke in constant danger from his enemies. He hates that it means Gina has to marry a man whose heart belongs to someone else. He hates that it means he has to choose between being happy and being a good leader. He hates it. 

_ We all hated it, _ a voice rings clear in his mind. 

If the intention was for that to soothe him, it’s having the opposite effect. Is that really what leadership is supposed to be? 

_ Hodnes laik kwelnes.  _ That was always Lexa’s mantra. Deep attachments will destroy you. She’d tell anyone around who would listen. He’s pretty sure Lexa is the one who put that thought into Clarke’s head, that duty was more important than heart. 

He’s never agreed with the sentiment, but how he wishes he’d have taken her advice anyway. 

Granted, Lexa still ended up falling for Clarke. And she still ended up dying. 

“You know she loves you back, right?” Gina’s voice pulls him back from his thoughts.

“Not enough,” he huffs out without thinking. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he glances over at Gina to gauge her reaction. She doesn’t seem angry or even surprised. No, her eyes are filled with pity. Bellamy thinks that might be worse. 

They once again sit in silence. Where do they go from here? Would Gina still be willing to marry him knowing he’ll always love Clarke? Do either of them really even have a choice in the matter? 

“My father is a proud man,” she says after a few minutes. “If either of us reneges on this, he won’t join the coalition.” 

When Bellamy just nods, understanding finally settles on Gina’s face. 

“And that’s why Clarke left, isn’t it?” He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t have to. 

Suddenly, Gina starts laughing. It’s a genuine cackle, and Bellamy can’t help but join in. “This is all a shitshow,” Gina gets out between breaths. 

“I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle of it,” Bellamy says sincerely. 

They both take deep breaths, regaining their composures. She reaches out a hand and covers his where it sits on the edge of the desk. 

“I’m sorry I’m the reason you can’t have her.” 

“It’s not your fault, Gina.” He gives her a small shrug and a sad smile. Part of him wishes that he’d met her first. Maybe he would have fallen in love with her kind smile and long curls instead of Clarke’s fierce eyes and golden waves. 

Then again, maybe the universe would have found a way to ruin that, too. It seems he was destined to be forced to choose between being truly happy and doing his duty to his people. 

She straightens then, letting go of his hand. He follows suit. 

“I don’t want to be the man that hurts you,” he tells her, trying to bridge the gap between them. 

He pulls her in for a hug. She’s frozen in place for a moment, but then her arms wrap around his torso. It’s different but comfortable. Something clicks for Bellamy in that moment. She’s going to be his wife one day. And Clarke’s right about one thing — there is no happy ending for the two of them. 

He can choose to build a life with Gina, to be content in knowing he’ll be a strong heda and a good husband. Bellamy will always love Clarke; she was part of his soul. But she’d made her choice, and it’s time he made his. 

“When I get back from Azgeda, I promise things will be different. I’m going to be different.” He says it with certainty, a finality to convince himself as well as Gina. 

She pulls back without saying anything, heading toward the door. But before she leaves, her hand pauses on the handle. The look on her face when she turns back toward him is sad, her eyes glassy. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Bellamy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you hate me? It's okay if you hate me. Only a few more chapters until the end, and I'm so excited for you guys to read. 
> 
> However, I do want to warn you guys ahead of time. I have six prompts for the t100 Writers for BLM initiative ahead of the next chapter in my todo list. And as more prompts for that come in, the further chapter 10 gets pushed. I'm working through those prompts as quickly as possible while still doing them justice, but it'll be a second before you guys get the next chapter. 
> 
> Of course, if anyone wants to ensure Ch. 10's slot in my prios list in case any additional prompts get added, remember that I am also allowing WIP update requests in exchange for proof of donation to a BLM cause. You can read more about the movement (and how you can request a prompt/update) on our carrd. 
> 
> As always, thank you guys for reading. Let me know what you think, and come scream with (or at) me on Tumblr! 🥰


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “At the end of the day, loving him is part of who I am. Is it worth it? I don’t know. But I don’t think I could help it even if I wanted to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter update was prompted by chickens474 as part of the [t100fic4blm initiative!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/) Thank you for prompting (and for your patience as I work through my prompt list). I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> And to everyone reading this: Thank you so much for your patience, kindness, and for sticking with me. To be blunt, the end of 2020 kicked my ass — first with my physical health and then with my mental health and then with the holiday business just for icing on the cake. I'm finally back in action posting, so you should see me more regularly (though I do have a prompt list a mile long). I love this story, and I am very excited to wrap it up soon and share this ending with you all. For more information on how you can prompt chapter updates to get ch 12-14 on my official prompt list, check out the [t100fic4blm card!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/)

The trek to the outskirts of the Azgedan capital as the edge of their territory only takes a couple of days, but with Bellamy obviously avoiding her, it feels much longer. 

She can’t tell if he’s still angry with her for forcing his hand on letting her accompany them or if something else was bothering him that he isn’t ready to talk about. But either way, he only talks to her when absolutely necessary, and even Murphy notices the shift. 

“Are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he jokes, sitting next to her at camp their second night. Bellamy just announced he’s heading to bed early, deciding to eat his rations in his tent. 

“Stop calling us that,” she gripes in lieu of a real answer. The truth is that she isn’t sure, and she hates that more than the idea of them actually fighting. 

But Murphy just smirks at her before getting up for his guard shift. Miller, coming back from his own shift, takes his seat next to Clarke. 

They haven’t talked much since she came back, at least not one-on-one. He’s been the slowest to forgive her, which makes sense in a way. He’s been Bellamy’s guard for a long time, and they are close. She probably wouldn’t have forgiven her either in his shoes. 

He takes a minute to study her, and she avoids eye contact. “Can I ask you something?” 

“I’m sure I’ll regret this, but sure,” she says, her voice faltering a bit at her attempt to joke. He gives her a look that says he’s serious, and she sighs. He wasn’t going to make this easy on her. 

“If leaving was the best thing for both of you, then why did you come back?” 

The question catches her off guard, though she should have seen it coming. Miller has always been a straight-shooter. It’s a quality she admires, even if it’s a pain in the ass when she’s at the receiving end of one of his no-bullshit talks. 

“Because Octavia asked me to.” After a second he just nods to the fire, as if that confirmed something for him, before he starts to stand. “And because I missed him.” 

He pauses at that, sitting back on the log. “You were gone for an entire year.” 

“Look, I realize that leaving the way I did wasn’t okay. But I thought with some time away, we’d both realize that it was better that way—a clean break. I had no idea Kane would get sick.” 

“Would it have mattered if you did?” It’s a pointed question, as if he already knows the answer. 

“Of course it would have,” she shoots back, meeting his hard stare. “I never would have left him and Octavia to deal with losing Kane by themselves had I known.” 

They sit there, eyes locked in a silent argument. The fire is reflected in his eyes, and she imagines he sees the same in hers. Eventually, he lets out his breath in a huff, his face softening just a fraction. 

“You hurt him.” 

“I know. I hurt me, too.” 

He turns his gaze upward, looking at the star-filled sky, and Clarke does the same. When they were younger, Bellamy used to drag her out to the roof of the tower on clear nights to stargaze. He would point out every single constellation he could find, telling her the old Earth stories that accompanied each and every one. She can still picture the way his entire face would light up telling those stories, back when he thought the skies were filled with promise for the future. Clarke wonders what he thinks about them now.    
  


“Is it worth it?” Miller asks after a while. “To love him even though all it does is cause you both pain.” 

It catches her off guard. Both because of the vulnerability laced in his voice and also because she isn’t quite sure about the answer. Is it worth it? To love him, to be loved by him...even when all it does is cause both of them to hurt each other? 

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, staring at the place the flames turn to embers in the wind. “I spent so many years denying it, convincing myself and everyone around me that we were only friends because I knew admitting the truth meant opening myself up to inevitable pain.” 

They’d always known he was going to marry someone who wasn’t Clarke, even before his conclave. And Clarke had always told herself that it didn’t matter—she would always be his friend and she could survive watching him fall for someone else. But then the dumbass had to go and love her back. 

“At the end of the day, loving him is part of who I am. Is it worth it? I don’t know. But I don’t think I could help it even if I wanted to.” Her eyes are glassy when she finishes talking, and she keeps her eyes locked on anything other than Miller’s piercing stare. 

He reaches out to put a hand over hers on the log. It’s a peace offering. Miller doesn’t say anything, and neither does Clarke. They just sit in the silence as the rest of the group goes about their evenings. 

When he does get up to get some rest, he pauses. “He’s shit at showing it, but loving you is every bit a part of him as it is a part of you. Don’t forget that.” 

And then he disappears off to his own tent, leaving Clarke to once again look up and wonder if shooting stars are still in the business of granting wishes. 

*** 

They’re at the border of the Azgedan capital by noon the following day. Roan won’t be going in with them — his banishment is still in effect since he won’t be bringing in Clarke as a prisoner like he originally planned. Clarke suspects that he’ll manage to sneak in anyway, but he’s kept his plans tight-lipped. 

Clarke is just finishing strapping her bow and quiver to Apollo when Bellamy walks up beside her. He reaches out to run a hand along Apollo’s neck, but the horse huffs angrily until he takes back his hand. Clarke shakes her head at the stubborn steed. 

“You’d figure he’d like you considering how similar you two are,” she comments with a chuckle in an attempt to lighten the perpetually tense air between them. 

“I need you to stay here,” he says, ignoring her teasing and reminding her of his weird version of silent treatment. 

“I told you I was walking in there with or without you. I meant it.” 

“I know you meant it,” he snaps between gritted teeth. His jaw is tense, and his fists are clenched at his sides. It pushes Clarke over the edge. 

“I don’t particularly care if you’re pissed at me right now. I’m not going to twiddle my thumbs while everyone else goes on this mission. And if you think I will, then you’re full of sh—” 

He grabs her elbow and drags her away from the horses and prying eyes. 

“Let go of me,” she snaps, yanking her arm back. He hadn’t hurt her, but the implication that he can just man handle her into doing what he wanted is frankly insulting. 

“Will you shut up for two seconds and listen to what I am saying?” His voice takes on an edge of desperation when he says that, and it makes her stop to really look at him. There are bags under his eyes, as if he hadn’t fully slept in days. And he’s obviously on edge. 

“What aren’t you telling me?” 

“I need you to stay out here, okay? Why can’t you understand that?” his deep brown eyes are pleading with her, his voice pitched low so that no one else can hear. 

“Not unless you tell me what’s going on.” 

He huffs out a breath as he steps back, closing his eyes and running both hands through his hair. Then he starts pacing, and Clarke starts to get legitimately worried. She’s seen him through a lot—training his entire childhood to kill his friends, the night before his novitiate conclave, battles with rebelling clans, and everything in between. But the way he’s acting right now is something she’s never seen him openly admit. 

Bellamy is scared. 

“Hey, look at me,” she says, stepping in his path and making him meet her eyes. His are glassy and his upper lip is trembling ever so slightly, as if he’s barely holding it together. She didn’t realize how much this was weighing on him, the idea of assassinating another ruler, the weight of finally bringing the clans together. “It’s going to be fine. You are going to be fine.” 

“You think I’m worried about me?” Her confusion must show on her face because he shakes his head and swallows hard before continuing. “I can’t have you in that room today.” 

“Bellamy, we’ll be fine. I can—” But he cuts her off with another shake of his head, tears gathering in a show of vulnerability she’s rarely seen from him. 

“You still don’t get it. Clarke,” his voice is so low it’s almost a whisper, and he brings a hand up to cup her face. The others can see them through the trees if they tried, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to care about the optics because his focus is solely on her. “If I’m going to pull this off, I have to be focused on the mission.” 

“I know that, Bell. I’m not going to—” 

Before she can finish her sentence, his lips are on hers. Hard, unyielding, filled with every ounce of desperation he was wearing on his face just seconds ago. His hands are in her hair, and she can’t help but lean into him, opening for him and pouring everything into the kiss. 

Her hands grip both sides of his face, and when he pulls back he keeps their foreheads connected and his eyes closed. 

“ _ You are my everything. _ ” Her eyes widen at the admission—this is more than just saying he loves her, or that he cares about her safety. It’s an admission of weakness; something they teach every novitiate to never willingly show. “The second Nia lays eyes on you, she’ll have me in checkmate. I know it. She knows it. Everyone knows it.” 

“Bellamy…” 

“I’m not strong enough, Clarke. I’m not strong enough to lose you, and I can’t risk Nia getting what she wants. And I know that’s not fair to you and I know I’m marrying Gina and I know there isn’t some old Earth fairytale ending in the stars for us. But that doesn’t change the fact that I love you, and it doesn’t change the fact that Nia will use that against me.  _ Please _ , stay here with Roan.” 

There’s a small part of her—the part of her that deflects through humor—that wants to make a joke about how two days ago he wouldn’t have volunteered for her to stay anywhere with Roan. But she stays quiet, a larger part of her overcome with emotion at his words. 

He kisses her again, this time gentle. Loving. 

And dammit she loves this man. She loves him more than she thought it was possible to love someone, and the last thing she wants to do is let him walk into that palace without her by his side. How cruel the universe must be to make two people’s souls this intertwined only to pull them apart at every turn. 

“Okay,” she murmurs after a moment. “I’ll stay here.” 

He releases a breath, and Clarke thinks it might be the first full breath he’s taken in days. It’s like a weight is visibly lifted off of his shoulders, and he gives her a sad smile. “Thank you.” 

She’s still got both of her hands on his cheeks, and she continues to hold his forehead to hers. “The second you get the chance, you drive a dagger into her chest. No hesitation. Come back to me, Bellamy Blake.” 

He meets her gaze, unwavering. “Always, Princess.” 

Clarke releases him, taking a step back and releasing a breath of her own. With a short nod, she walks back to Apollo to unstrap her bow. 

Their group is mostly silent over the next few hours as they make preparations. The plans have been hammered into the entire group, and now all that’s left is the execution. It’s somber as they all finish packing their things—they would need to escape quickly after everything, which means everything needs to be ready to go. After Nia was dead, Roan would return to claim his crown and the team from Polis would split up to escape. 

The closer to time to leave, the more anxious Clarke feels. She doesn’t like the idea of not being there, but she also doesn’t want to cause Bellamy any more problems. And she trusts him to get the job done, but she doesn’t trust Nia. It makes her nervous to know she won’t be there. 

When everyone takes off, Bellamy sticks behind for just a moment before mounting. 

“I told Gina things would be different when I got back.” 

“Good,” she says, and she means it. Gina deserves happiness, and so does Bellamy. He needs to try and make a life with her. “Just make sure you come back so you can make good on that promise.” 

He stands there awkwardly for a moment, obviously debating something in his head. 

“Fuck it,” he says suddenly, dropping the reins to take her face between his hands and kiss her one last time. His lips are insistent but soft, and his tongue sweeps into her mouth. It’s a heart-stopping kiss, and his lips linger against hers. As if he doesn’t want to let go. But eventually, he does. He has to. 

“Why did that feel like a goodbye?” she whispers, a hand still clutched on his shirt. He doesn’t answer her, just presses one last kiss to her forehead before turning away to mount his horse and catch up with the group. 

He didn’t have to answer her, though, because she already knows. It’s because it is one. 

*** 

Her and Roan stay close together on the outskirts, keeping mobile to avoid detection. It’s starting to snow. And though the scene is peaceful, snowflakes drifting down through the trees, there is a nervous energy keeping them on edge. Their horses can feel it, too, not wanting to cooperate. 

“I don’t like this,” Roan says eventually, and Clarke comes to a stop beside him. They are at the edge of the treeline, and smoke from the palace is just within view. 

“I don’t either.” 

“Why did you agree to stay away?” She can tell that he isn’t trying to be nosy, that he’s trying to work through some imaginary game of chess in his mind. But she can’t exactly tell him what Bellamy said. 

But she doesn’t need to—he reads the look on her face easily, and shakes his head. “If I were him, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.” 

She opens her mouth to argue with him about that not being a better alternative, but he raises a hand in surrender before she can. “I recognize that wouldn’t be a healthy behavior, either.” She raises an eyebrow at him, but otherwise doesn’t comment. 

In truth, she doesn’t entirely disagree with him. She wants more than anything to be within those walls. There’s a pit in her stomach, telling her that something is going to go wrong and they won’t be there to help. 

They meet eyes, and come to a mutual decision. They were going in. 

“You’ll have to be my prisoner for this to work,” he points out. 

“Just like the original plan,” she agrees, taking off her bow and quiver and passing them over to Roan to wear. She’ll want them inside, but she won’t be able to walk in with him. At least she’ll have the dagger strapped to her ankle within arms reach. 

She lets Roan bind her hands together with some rope and helps move her from Apollo’s back to sit in front of him—his prisoner. Apollo is decidedly not pleased with the idea of Roan holding his reins and walking without Clarke, but he doesn’t put up too much of a fuss once they start going. 

“You know we’re all fucked if this doesn’t work out, right?” 

“Then I guess it better work out.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way this plan is about to fucking backfire. lol But the good news is that you'll be able to read exactly how it backfires soon because another IYS chapter is right around the corner—two chapter updates were prompted back-to-back. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Feel free to come scream with me (or at me) on [Twitter @stealjasonsjob](https://twitter.com/stealjasonsjob/) or [ Tumblr @stealing-jasons-job!](https://stealing-jasons-job.tumblr.com/)


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